Le Chat au Miroir III, by Balthus

Sometimes I can find a line that runs through my knits, connecting the dots.  Other times, I can’t.  This happens to be the latter.

Yesterday three Lynden sheet metal trucks drove by and parked up the street from the bench.

Also, I met Barkley, the peach poodle, on his way for a walk with J. and the Codgers.

The train whistled–a strange sound as if a hand holding down many keys of an organ simultaneously.

Today, a brief appearance of our neighbor who is recovering nicely from chemotherapy, her curly new hair in a sweet pixie cut.

The ladies walking club said hi but didn’t linger.

M. told me the tragic tale of the Fire House Cafe’s demise…no more Parisian hot chocolate.

My mind has been very busy with worry this week.  It’s been unrelenting…Until this afternoon when I plunged into a new painting that was so difficult that I didn’t have any brain space left over for the negative thoughts.  And now I feel refreshed and easy in my mind.


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