Artist

I’ve been told there’s a parachute somewhere that will help you land in your own color, but all I know is to watch for what propels you, what lifts you, where you circle back around. Are you light with grace, or limping numbly through?

Watch for the speck of sparrow in that endless, empty sky; how it catches the corner of your heart and swoops you up and toward it; I know a sparrow won’t pay the bills, but skies are dark where all the crows gather, leaving you blind and blackened and blank.

Watch for the red cap that hangs in the pine, the blue and urgent cry, the gold and purple finch. I’m here to tell you this is color enough to land, and color enough to fly.