tea and sleep

I have not slept for more than a few moments at a time, maybe, for two days. The rooms have been either too hot or too cold. It has been too early, or too late, or time has simply not been measured properly. Whatever the reason, my mind will not quiet. When my eyes close, blank, bright visions of stark sharp whiteness. What thoughts will calm me? Think of the cats curled up on soft blankets somewhere. Think of my hands kneading warm bread dough on flour-silk wooden boards. Sunrise over the water. The aroma released when harvesting sun-ripened tomatoes. Think of the studio, what it might look like... to give me a sanctuary to hide in, the planning of something new. Let my mind have that distraction for right now at least.

High windows, low windows, comfortable chairs and wooden tables, shelves of tea alongside art supplies and books.

Shelves of tea. Rows of tea. Tea. A nice cup of tea. A nice cup of tea would be so nice right now. If someone brought me a cup of tea... If someone could just keep bringing me cups of tea until... until... Until I could breathe again. Until I could feel my own bones and flesh and the weight of myself in this chair. Until I could rest again.

Now whenever my eyes close I think of tea. Dream of tea. Tea and sleep.

snow

As the source is so far yet unknown, it could be from a dream, a childhood memory, or a vision of something yet to come, but for as long as I can remember, there has been this clear picture in my mind of sitting inside a cozy room somewhere and watching the snow fall... it is a very exact image of a defined location with the snow falling a very particular way.  In every house, cottage, camp, cabin, studio ever ventured into, the search for this space, this window, has continued, and it has always eluded me each time.  Obviously it has to happen on it's own, not to be contrived, so I would not build it... but now do find myself waiting to see if the scene will indeed occur naturally, somehow, in the studio.

Regardless, I wish it would snow.