There wasn’t a boy, and then there was.
A love child, different from the rest.
Great expectations everybody’s watching
this very strange enchanted boy.
They say you traveled very far.
Over moon and stars.
One magic day you came our way
You’re something new
but people all seem to know you.
There wasn’t a boy, and then there was.
And I’ll always love you.
Elliott George Petersen
November 29, 2021
Simplicity is not easy.
Sounds like it would be easy, but it’s not easy.
Not as easy as it looks anyway.
Things that look effortless rarely are.
Gymnasts make flying around on one apparatus after another look easy.
When was the last time you tried a simple somersault?
A long time ago perhaps.
Probably because as an adult it isn’t fun, comfortable, or easy.
The Beatles’ songs often come off as simple.
But writing them wasn’t necessarily easy.
While composing the “Two of Us”, Paul said to George:
“Now it’s complicated…if we can get it simpler, then we can complicate it where we need to.”
Matisse was the master of simplification.
His drawings are so elegant.
Nothing extraneous.
It may have been effortless for Matisse.
But for us mere mortals, it’s never nearly so.
Simplifying is a process of self-editing.
When we get it right,
Like The Beatles sang, “We’re on our way home.”
Tis the season
to be jolly
to give thanks
to light a candle
to sing and dance.
Millions are the reasons
we give a gift
raise a glass
visit a neighbor
stay up late.
One theme in common
we eat
and eat
and eat
and eat.
To the kitchens we retreat
traditions repeat
ovens heat
not a missed beat
prep complete
Baked with love
basted with creativity
served with generosity
consumed with cheer.
Wet leaves with cold air
Ice and snow appearing in my garden with more frequency
Preparing for what is really to come.
Soft chair with quiet warmth
World is changing out my window, as expected yet still surprising
Observing what happens every year.
Accidental collections become apparent
Accumulated objects crowd in as they grow quite in spite
Realizing a change has to come.
Urgency presses upon
Subtle nagging thoughts and reasonings set on repeat
Wondering if they speak the truth.
Urgency presses on
Imagination filled with ideas that begin to shout from across the room
Been waiting patiently, wantonly.
I pick up my brush.
I could walk to you
You would still be an oak tree to me
I could draw you
I could talk to you
You would still be an apple to me
I could draw you
I could smell you
You would still be a rose to me
I could draw you
I could rest in you
You would still be a meadow to me
I could draw you
I could draw you
I will draw you
I’ll know you
Royce Deans