Semi-Daily Scribbles

Stella can't admit she is an artist. How presumptuous and downright impractical! Where's the money in watercolors and song? Stella's mind and soul are always in a state of agitation over this deep, dark yearning of hers to make beautiful things that people really care about (again with the recurring theme–care enough to part with their hard-earned cash.) All that want and restlessness is very bad stuff. It puts the world in a sickly grey-green light. People and objects once precious are now given the same consideration as a pound of dryer lint. Our Lady of Privation deserves a lament to be sung in her honor ~

     The stars are heavenly imperfections strewn across a black, beautiful vastness. I wish it were true Stella did hang her dream on a fixed point of hope. But she was so easily given to despair because stars are very far away. Stella's heart was meant to be bigger. Then the door to the world would have opened for her.