Wednesday, October 17, 2012

The Quagmire of Indecision



For this one free hour, before getting locked in for the day, I’m hesitating on the edge of a great swamp of things to do, choices to make.  What will I do with my hour?  Work on my novelito (a new form I have invented) and lose myself in a Mallorcan September, play with a collage and wade into a color-pool of purple pears and Matisse fabrics of dreams and old Italian stamps, read the new Donna Leon about a forgotten Venetian composer, start one of the letters I need to write, walk to work, sit outside with my coffee mug and listen, simply, to the Golden-crowned Sparrow, giving in to the sweet-voiced birds luring me off to idle in a patch of sunlight where a disused rowboat sits?  Or maybe five minutes of each?

I shall likely hesitate too long, and do none of these things—the danger and nature of quagmires.




image:  French Swamp, Nicolas Guionnet

1 comment:

  1. this post could be a painting of bonnard's.
    only in words!

    ReplyDelete