Too Perfect to Paint

The world has its way of making me feel insignificant. Like when I stare out my hotel window in Naples & strain my eyes trying to find the edge of the city lights that stretch out father than I could find. When I stood on the streets there were so many bridges & high rises & subway entrances I struggled to decide if I was actually on the ground or not. Like when I stood before the old growth trees in the Red Wood Forest in California and realized that giant chunk of wood had been living longer than any walking, crawling, swimming or flying on the face on the planet now. To think that the gristly bark is worth so much more than me & everything I believe in. Like when I hiked Mt. Rainer & delved so deep into the snowy woods, that I couldn’t find a trace of any other humans, but the ones I was with. There was no garbage, no footsteps, no voices, no roaring of cars in the distance, not even those long clouds that planes leave behind in the sky. But the world also has its way of confirming that there is something more. Like when get home in the afternoons & find the sky smeared with rainbows after a day of rain. Like when my baby cousin runs up to meet me & there is that look of pure innocent bliss in her eyes. Like when I surf & I let the waves take control. Like when an idea comes to me that is way better than I should be able to create. Like when I find a flower full of shadows & details too intricate too paint. All of these things prove to me that I am small, but I am not alone

Done