Text and photos of A Plan for Future Sunrises

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Plan for Future Sunrises

 

    Of all my Muse’s plans for future sunrises, I liked her concept for a random celestial horizon the best. 

“Every daybreak would be a surprise!” My Muse screamed. “We would no longer take dawn for granted.”  She swooped her arm toward an imaginary sunrise.  “Today the Sun rose over the barn.”  Then she spun around, her arms flying through the air. “There is no west or north… We have no idea where it will set.”  She stops, “Look!”   She holds up her wrist to look at an imaginary watch.  “What time does my watch read?

Tick tock tick tock

Time clocks are such silly constructs,

You might have two cheeks and only one bum,

But the sun will sit when the sun sets.”

 

She came over next to me and leaned her chin up against my chest. “How’s that for a simple lesson to help our children learn time?”

I wondered if she meant poem to actually rhyme, but then decided it didn’t matter.  “It would have made my kindergarten years less stressful.”  Then I added, “Now, if we only  had random cheeks and bums, then the teaching of math would just be silly”

A new thought occurred to me which I quickly molded into inspiration. “I want to try to paint your idea of a random sunrise…” I hesitated.  “But I don’t know if I have the creative or technical skill to match your absurdisms.  It is so monumental.”  I moved to put my arms around her, “Such beautiful thoughts…”  I hugged her. “Some of your stupidest ideas are my biggest inspirations”

Maybe it was a misunderstanding or poor choice of words… or both?  Later, alone with my thoughts and a freshly broken nose, I briefly pondered the prudence of finding a new Muse and even considered the wisdom of possibly dropping the Artist/ Muse arrangement.  Was it really working for me?   Was it worth the cost?  Could my inspiration come in another way?  These thoughts quickly ceded to another line of reasoning. Maybe it was an accident?  I deserved to be punched.  Well, not deserved, nobody deserves to be punch, not even an ass, but… isn’t a broken nose given to you from your Muse sort of like a war wound?   Wars might be wrong or bad, but they still give you medals.   Emotional turmoil I survived.   With my artwork being a medal of valor.  That might be going too far, but it was the most interesting thing to happen in the past month.  I am an artist with canvasses waiting for paint.

I remembered her head turning towards me, her fist cutting an arc through the sky, her crooked smile and the vanishing bend of her nose, as her beautiful eyes made contact with mine.  With such a striking image left to be painted, I easily convinced myself to put off living a healthy and circumspect life.

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