So between ordering 20 owl shortbread cookies for a party, collecting birch branches in the pouring rain and mud, and waking in the middle of the night worrying that Oliver’s foot might get infected inside a 9 week cast…..

I am trying to create my perfect fox painting.  I have it in my head.  It’s there.  In shadows and brambly twilight.  He’s red…almost magenta.  He’s swift and cunning, with just a hint of playfulness. 

It’s plaguing me.  I don’t know why.  He’s trying to come out but I just can’t get him right.  I’ve practiced and wasted paper and paints and stayed up into the wee hours of the night trying to find him in that perfect niche of my psyche.

Is it a metaphor?  What is at work here inside my soul?  What would a child therapist say?  Or any therapist?

I wish I had a shiny new beautiful painting to put at the top of my blog.  But I’ve got nothing for you.  Today…I hope for snow, I drink lots and lots of tea, I light a Satsuma Clove candle to mask the scent of bacon, and I PAINT!

Do you need this owl again?  YOU DO.

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