I wonder what it was like for Vincent Van Gogh when he was living in Arles on a typical day? I wonder if he found himself sitting in a chilly kitchen drinking coffee and sketching? Gazing out the window at the sky, the clouds, waiting to see if it would be clear or drizzly? Thinking of packing up his art supplies and heading out to paint until the sun dipped too low. Outside for the whole day painting, building up layers of thick colors, movement and emotions swirling in every direction a creative chaos of inspiration, hope and awe. Painting and painting and painting oblivious to time, to passersby, to everything but the moment, the movement of the world he was creating. Finally out of light or energy or anything left to put on the canvas, he would pack up his kit, his easel and walk back to the yellow house with the green shutters to spend the evening alone contemplating his day's work, his life and the future. I wish I could sit across from the table with him drinking coffee and talking about art and life and how they constantly intermingle. Sigh. That would be nice. I hope your day is really beautiful. Let me know, if you want to, what you're contemplating today. Meet me back here tomorrow. Peace & hugs 
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