I keep getting images of a collage...layers upon layers upon layers.  Dimensions within dimensions.  I slap that scrap of paper dug from the trunk onto a watercolor pad, then I circle the easel for a couple of days.  (That is literal in this little house with two doors leading to the back porch)  This is the trickiest time for me...the blankness on one hand, the fully formed image on the other.  And no clue how to get from here to there.  It actually gives me an ache...no, more like pressure, right behind and above my eyes.  Third eye pierce in efforts to cut the chatter.  I continue to walk and watch, walk and watch.  Circling, circling.  One day is too cold and rainy to work outside.  Walk and watch.  Oh, necklace sales...must work on jewelry for a day.  Circle and circle and circle.  And then an odd nudge comes my way via the cable guy.  He knocks out all communications for a full 24 hours.  What else could I do???

It occurs to me that the only way to start is to start.  Funny.

I scrub and rub and splatter paint around making the paper canvas look old and worn and touched a million times.  I am looking for that foundation...that foundation of ancestors.  That foundation providing the courage to fly.

I stick three little Chinese bamboo paperclips to the corner.  I don't know why.  I just like them. 

The gilt bearing envelope is a natural.  The golden tie manifest as a simple letter of news and love from afar.