Sunday morning we went to visit friends who live in a rural area.
On the drive south, we saw the Olympic range over Liberty Bay. That was a scene itself: only the top of the peaks were visible, the rest of the mountains covered in fog. It seemed sacred. Mysterious. Spiritual.
From our friends’ living room window we could watch horses romp and a tractor run in the pasture across the street. As we drove home in the afternoon sun, I noticed how sharp the colors were. The deep red barn. The green of the spring hillside. The blue sky.
How fun it would be to watercolor the scene, the houses and barns built on the hill, paint squares and rectangles of color against the green and blue. Next time we go visit, I’ll pack my paints…or at least my camera…
The rest of the day was long and liquid, like paint flowing across a page.
