The hairs gliding over the canvas feels good. Texture in my hands, starting fresh, starting new. Some I know what they will be, others are still unknown to me. I don't know when it will all get done. I once had all the time I could ever ask for, but it felt so empty in my hands.
Stirring in the bedroom lets me know little ones will be up soon. This too short time, so filled now. I clean my brushes in the sink, watch the blue run down.
Little ones ready to play. Paint drying and waiting.
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