This new year took a turn in an unexpected direction. . .the winter cold won out and my trip to Palm Springs got cancelled and the workshop I was so looking forward to was abandoned. . and for the first week in years I did NO ART! Gasp. . .it was simply impossible. . .So yesterday, with fresh hope and my first day on antibiotics, I did this piece full of the promise of resurrection. And here’s the words that came with it. . .
Fruit cocktail promises will lead me out of the land of Sinus where all pathways drip sticky whiskers, colorful goo with goblin face. Fingers of rich salty secretions block my way, eat up my time as I wrestle with kleenex. . .
. . .the house littered now with piles of billowy wads, thick like the air outside fogged in with cold, my cold germs living in these white clouds, dropping from me like snow as I wander restlessly through these rooms, coughing and blowing and varporizing and nasal rinsing and plopping exhausted next to yet another kleenex box, an army of them stationed throughout the house. . .
but the promise of fruit and fresh water and amoxicillin and deep breaths and long walks and the return of happy thoughts and friends who no longer fear my germs. . .