Hope, again

Somedays the memory of having had hope becomes hope itself.  Other days hope becomes a living dancing lively and altogether present thing.  I'm having that one today.  The altogether present one.  The one that makes me laugh for the unadulterated pleasure of the thought of dancing through this sometimes mess of a world.  Dancing through the long-shot line.  Someone once told me he thought me to be a "patron saint of the lost cause".  So be it. The thought makes me smile.

To be an artist must surely to take the longest shot of all.  And once in a while that long long shot comes racing in.  The check is always welcome, always good.  Even better it the longed-for breakthough.  The hoped-for painting.  The one that has never existed, yet when finally seen is as recognizable as my face in the mirror.  The back of my hand.  The sun rising in the east.

My morning reading concerned hope.  A reminder to take it and once in hand, share it.  And so I have. Such as it is. Be well, my friends. If your day's quota of hope is low, take some of mine, if you can.  From you I've taken plenty.  Thank you.