What I dream of is an art of balance.
My life, I see, must be kept in a perfect balance (always precarious, like the Spirit of Eternal Repose that so fascinates me) between the immediate, physical, sensual world right here around me, in which I sit under the olive trees drinking Spring Cherry tea from my Italian mug painted with the Deruta Etrusca Raffaellesco dragon, and watching the swallows scythe the air over the gentle slope of the house roof; and the far, abstract, imaginative world of the mind out there somewhere, gathering fascinating facts from the ether and images of distant places I have visited or would visit one day. Always yearning to learn something new, but happy to do so while sitting unmoving in my wicker chair. Looking in, looking out. Marrying the two in writing, with an antique garnet ring, a long strand of grass knotted into a circle.
Image: "Harmonious balance," Stephen Warren (Simplicity, Elegance, and Grace of Nature)