...just thinking...

My mind today keeps wandering to the painting that presides over my Daddad's living room. I'm scanning over the seaweed covered rocks that shine in the moonlight. The ships look so weathered, like the small town behind them in the distance, but not unhappy. I'm trying to imagine myself on that beach. You would need a thick, wool sweater I think. Everything is moist with salt water...can't escape the smell. A foghorn sounds...there are still some lights on in the town, though it must be past midnight. I can see the moonlight playing on the surface of the water, trying to illuminate further than the first few inches. I'll have to be content with not getting in the water, though I want it to cover me. Too chilly.
I think about how in her last years, Mama must have spent a lot of time looking at this painting. I wonder if she pictured herself wherever it is supposed to be. She saw beauty in that scene...she was the one who picked it out. That painting is like a long, deep sigh.

This whole weekend has been trapped in the painting. It's been days of garlic soup, hearty sweaters, perfectly cured cast-iron pans, fat ceramic mugs of coffee, thick ecru-colored cream, grey, chilly skies, fine mists, sewing by hand, warm cat cuddles, crunchy leaves, seeing your breath, drafty houses...