This morning I dreamt that we were working at Villa Tamarinda, cleaning , clearing, and then....you turned the spigot to flood fresh taro patches in the center of the property
Tonight I sit, with a moment of stillness etched into the darkness.
The kettle stirs, calling me to come closer to the fire, and I notice the tea leaves in a mystical dance.
Tonight I write, as the pen flows from me.
I watch, and the nameless casts it's intricate design across the page.
This shadow, becomes a brush stroke, becomes a word, and soon white paper is cloaked in a dust of charcoal.
Tell me, when you look at the page, do you see tea leaves?
If you do, you have caught a glimpse of my heart.
It is stirring in the wakefulness of a drawing.
It is stirring to the memory of you, in the fire, wrought in the rapture of this creating moment.
Tonight, I give in to the scent of the muse....
- Lauren Harris