On a Sunday

He spent the day doing watercolors at MM's house. Nothing else to do but paint. He has divided the dining room table between acrylics and watercolors. Dolce fare niente  except paint and listen to music. Today  Pink Martini , 1940s Jazz at the Philharmonic, and Schubert.
The air conditioner kept pace with the heat and humidity.

These are WC works in progress. They need to sit for day or so. As the day ended he sat in the screened porch, fan on and absorbed the day's end reading Wallace Stevens and William Carlos Williams. He has renewed his undergraduate love of poetry; lost for 50 years. It comes back full circle. He read and drew until the light failed enjoying the silence that was given beyond the city's background steady presence; then there was a lightening flash and thunder and rain.  The peace of rain and the visual surrounding greenness and the smell of the tropics. He has missed this, has never known this, but he knows he has missed/needs it and it renews him for the days to come. The frogs signal and the baby birds call from their nests in the ravine and thunder sounds in the distance. Here are other acrylics in progress. He is OK.