Celestial canvas

When I was a toddler, I apparently already had firm beliefs in what I did and didn’t like.

My mother, intending to freshen something, perhaps even my cot, took the opportunity, one day while we were out, to purchase a can of paint.

As I daresay anyone else would have, she placed the item in my pram, for transport home.

On the way, she made another stop, leaving me briefly outside, as one could back then.

It seems I objected, though whether to the paint can, or the paint colour or simply to my mother’s having placed it in my pram, I can’t say.

However, I’ve been told, I summoned the strength, with my two-year-old arms, to heave the thing out and it fell, bursting open upon the pavement, which forever bore evidence of my opinion.

My cousin who, being older, occasionally baby-sat me, told me once that I had been a “determined” little girl.

The years have not changed me, though I like to think I’ve learned a little restraint.

When I like, and I mean really like something, I tend to be wildly enthusiastic about it.

Like clouds wherein I see my teddy bear’s face.

Actually not the obvious one. To see my teddy, I tilt my head left and she’s lying on her side, above the tree.

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Well no, I’m not quite that specific, but I adore the sky, most particularly just before dawn or sunset. Something about the softness of the light, that transition of creatures, birdsong to crickets or vice versa. The short hush of the pause between…

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So, rather many of my posts contain celestial photographs, but the good thing is that they will never be the same. For the sky is an ever-changing canvas.

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