Controlled Chaos

…like riding the sled down the hill at Farmington, a big scary steep hill, and you can see the bonfire at the bottom, near the creek on the 18th fairway, steep and cold and going so fast on the shiny ice you could scream, except the sound would freeze even before it left your mouth.

Or racing into the woods, twigs slapping at your thighs, at your face, knowing you could trip at any moment and crash face-down into the brambles, or worse step in a gopher hole and twist your ankle but still you run dodging the saplings and jumping over the fallen trees headlong– mad but wildly exuberant.

Or painting a large one using up all the pthalo blue, knowing you don’t have the money to buy more anytime soon but what the hell, laying in the horizon in one swift stroke because it just looks so dashing, using the 2″ brush to make the clouds wispy, feathering feathering, slapping on the water with gobs of paint, rolling in the shadows in the foreground, over and over make it insistent and with the knife scraping the highlights out with no way to rework it if you make one false stroke.

Controlled chaos.

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