When did a compliment become a contract? Duck.
Trust is slipping through our fingers.
Wholeheartedly seen, we’re liable to burst into flames.
No one says Thank You anymore. Freeze.
Simply thank you, moving on, maybe with a little smile tucked into our pocket. Lost.
A compliment is a gift. A flower. A paper airplane on target.
Too sticky. Return to sender. When did this happen?
Twice this year, I met artists who took my breath away; they made me want to sit down and stare a good long while, long after they were gone.
Striking. Not all the good work is already done.
I asked my husband, “Do you think a man thinks I’m flirting if I tell him he’s excellent at his art, when he’s excellent at his art?”
No hesitation, “Probably.”
Oh man. Oh no. Oh geez.
Labrador Retriever. Sunflower. Hummingbird.
We modulate here. Tight boundaries. Careful.
My friend Bill told me I had a great laugh in college.
Fast forward. I was making a blanket fort with my kids.
My daughter said I was childlike that day. She said, “Well look what we have here–the blanket director,” and she nodded her head wistfully.
She was right. Art. Sunflowers. Labrador Retrievers. Blanket Forts. Hummingbirds. Big Laughter. Moments.
Look at the Sky.