"When you work, you are a flute through whose heart the whispering of the hours turns to music...and what is it to work with love? It is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart, even as if your beloved were to wear that cloth.." ~Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet
"I wanna sing country songs and travel," she sighed. "But you don't even have a guitar!" I said, "isn't that the same as me wanting to be a cowboy 'cept I ain't got a horse?" We laughed, my sister and I at the art fair where imaginations run wild in the month of September and the beginning of Fall. It's the time of year when black creeps in on the bark of trees, making memory come alive. I notice it every year as the leaves change color. We become poets and our hearts begin to sing. It's like a wake up call to remind us all about our desires and correct path. Some people cry more and conjure feelings of regret.
We walked further and came across the dancing wire sculptures perfectly formed like a human body. Breathtaking! Photographers crowded the space trying to capture the sense of freedom.
"Do you remember little Wayne?" I asked. "Mrs. McClanahan's grandson? Eew, he was scary weird, why?"my sister asked. I heard he's working as a weather expert. I said. "Remember how he could make sounds like a tornado and tell us to take cover. We thought he was the weirdest kid on the block and all along he was becoming a weather man!"
The best thing for us to remember our path could be as simple as being a kid again. Think about what you played, how you played and when did you feel like a weightless dancing sculpture? The place where time wasn't important either.
People paint with oil, people carve leaves into gourds, they use glass and some drink too much. The street music is always from the heart. My sister wants to sing, and I let her. Beers are $8 each, what the heck, do you remember, a time in September...
"Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to Heaven."
Photograph by Cathy Sherman www.GCUniverse.com/catherinescardstore