Sometimes I look out the window and I think the world has gone all black and white. No more the constant façade of Nick’s Café with its red painted red bricks. No more the tall edifice of the Muslim Cultural Center whose lit windows I always mistake for the moon rising in the east.
Snowed four inches, then sleeted all afternoon, the little ice pellets tick tick on the skylights. The sky went pink and so did the snow, now everything has gone dark. There are icicles. It is slippery. The sidewalks have worn the treads off my shoes.
I find painting boring compared to the flickering flames in the woodstove. So I feed the fire all day.