Little did I know it would last for more than a month.
I took myself out of the flow and sat on the banks watching the water turn from a trickle into a brutish force. Worked on small paintings, set up for Open Studio, taught a number of encaustic workshops. Played with the critters. Toyed with writing the final post.
Mid–October my father passed away. It was quick and peaceful. He lived an engaged, active life up until his final trip to the hospital. Ninety six years old.
35,040 days of breathing. And how many breaths do we take a day? His organs just got tired. The final dwell.
Not sure where these blog posts are headed. I’ll be up to 22,995 days old pretty soon.