12X18 inches. Mixed media oil painting on canvas. cackling cicadasTo walk barefoot on grass morning dew that dampensmy feet, smiling, oh, how this is something I love. Wading in pools of fresh summer air listeningto Khruangbin and cackling cicadas fly, I love. Parked in the driveway, humming until the song is finished, a frivolous pleasure to deify and love.Sparking dinner table conversationswith Those who’ve come and are long gone, ghosts to my eyes, once loved.Finding travel guides to South America on my neighbourhood sidewalk; places to go, new things to try, to love.Recovering an old friend or an old art form,a secret handshake or a box of paints, money can’t buy some things, gushes love. Weaving prayers of patience in the way one braids hair, reciting aphorisms, butterfly pea flowers, murmurs of love. In the Talmud: “Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, grow, grow.”Words to abide by, the wisdom of love.