Tales to tell…

I have never finished a water color painting but I can recall the thin colors growing deep in puddles that puckered thin white construction paper. I remember how even the pencil outlines were broken, smudged or lost in the slow land-locked battle. A continent of homogenous black-brown and dirty grey- but like the stagnant water that pools after a storm, a clear drain will bring movement. All the vibrancy essential in creating such hardened hues spill forth, they flee in sprints like foxes. I see a splash of orange dart behind the knobbed trunk of an ancient oak tree. This is what most days feel like and I suppose that was the story. Standing at the front desk, organizing registration cards- I read a memo about a particular guest and realize in a moment of clarity that all the events I had recalled from earlier today were actually yesterdays memories.