There have been days in my life--such days!--that have left me clear and crisp and deliciously warm, as if the day had been painted in watercolors, and the culturally constructed boundaries between myself, the world, and everything beautiful in it were (as they should always be) slightly blurred. On those rare days, I have vowed to inhabit such wonder, but rare they remain. What I have come to recognize is this: the watercolor feeling comes in simple, mundane moments as well as in day-long floods. I must seize both.
To pay homage to the momentary, and at the prompting of a friend, I begin this list.
- Being drawn to someone from a distance only to realize it's someone I know and love.
- Catching my dad clandestinely watching my mother with love, passion, respect, awe, and pride pooled in his eyes.
- Pushing my fingers through a bowl full of flour.
- The way jewelry is still warm after I take it off.
- The smell of wet asphalt.
- Losing myself to a painting and emerging some time later to find spatters of white on my fingers and streaks of blue and green on my jaw.
- Getting angry with fictional characters.
- Keeping fresh flowers in the house.
- Listening to a familiar song and finding a melodic or lyrical nuance I'd never noticed before.
- Discovering mystery rolls of film, developing them, and regaining memories once lost.
- Prolonging the last pages of the last book in an incredible series.
- Catching the first spring flowers peeking out through the snow.
- Stating how I feel and realizing as I do so that the words I have chosen are absolutely perfect and even give me better insight into my own emotions.
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