Like the horses run

There is wonder that washes over me, every time my horses run across my field, or race around the arena, or run into the wind, their noses open to the excitement in the air. Every time it takes my breathe away. And every time I pick up a paint brush, the same excitement hits me, as the first stroke hits the canvas. The sheer joy of the colour, the luxurious feel of the paint, and the gratefulness that I have a bounty of supplies and time to drip this time away. The drips on the floor, my clothes, my hands and usually my face are the painters dust. The grime and the days full speed artistic adventure swirling around the studio. ¬†Artists run like horses. The mind races and darts and dodges. And when the paint dust settles…there is the being…standing there…in the light…the breath lost to the wind…

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