Have you ever noticed that maintaining a house or a yard (or a kid, for that matter) is a never-ending project akin to painting the Golden Gate Bridge? Leaky roof, sun-damaged floors, backed up drains, unhappy plants (or in the case of the kid: stomach flu, lingering cold, weird Honduras-induced skin condition)--you fix one thing and then some other problem pops up. Occasionally I have to remind myself that there will always be something, and that's just the way it is...and it's ok.
Two women in hats, feet solidly planted in the damp grass, lean toward a canvas propped against an easel. One woman dabs intently with a brush, the other looks out at the ocean, then makes a staccato gesture-- here, here, and there-- with two fingers, pointing to an outcropping of rock. They consider the horizon, then regard the painting in progress.
There is both lightness and gravity in the way they work.
God of all thank you for the rough loveliness of nature and for whatever it is-- spark, soul, or instinct-- that makes humans want to make beauty too.