I am not a hoarder. Of things. I am an avid spring cleaner, de-clutter-er, closet organizer, clothes re-folder.
But lately, a funny thing. I have found that, in my box of buttons and torn up pages, I have all of these pictures of windows. And maybe it's nothing. And maybe it's just that I have a limited ability of what I'm capable of creating. But I am making a mental note-
and maybe Art knows something about waiting and expectancy and longing, like looking out and waiting for the mail, looking out and waiting for someone to pass, anyone to pass,looking out and waiting for them to come pick me up and take me where I'm going, looking out and waiting for you to come Home.