Painting Dreams

is a wonderful way of sharing



The next morning was filled with hurry and get everything dones. Ramza was going to stop by the wagons around midday and the fun would begin. Petra was roasting some of the fresh meat while the boys darted in, around and about the rows with their war games when the man arrived with his sack of goodies. The excitement had built all day so that when he pulled out the jars of paint, I raced up the platform to gather what few colors I had as well.

I could tell he had given this all a great deal of thought. It wasn't long before the central fire began to rise and cross the sky to set near the rear in washes of wondrous hues on the canvas side. The myriads of hand prints had been incorporated into the imagery and as my hand added its own touches, a meadow of flowers bloomed in an area of the tall grasses. I made sure the beautiful floral print that blue had added was tucked smack dab in the middle of the other blossoms. Since my favorite color is the same as the twilight ... that not quite blue and not quite black shade. This was the jar that Ramza took to begin a rendering of a dark blue kaiila watching the vista as the day ended.

I stood there in awe of it when Silk and the children stopped by. Each was given a jar of their own while we talked.The importance of my little dream wagon was explained to her, that it is a symbol of all that have touched my life and she liked the idea. I call it my dream wagon and wanted her to be part of it. I'm proud of the doodly yellow images that now grace the side along with the rest. Wily had already added his little abstract some hands back ... one long red swipe as he ran by but then that is Wily ... the breaded Tuchuk. The twins gave a half dozen or more of their touches before Mia came back with yellow paint dripping from her braids. A rep went to work mopping at the juicier parts as we talked. She wanted yellow hair and at first I thought it was to match mine but she had a good case of pappa missing that wrenched at the very core of me. She wanted her hair to look like Jerus'. We spoke for a while of the softer things that little girls need to hear from someone besides their mothers.

I can only hope that my words could offer some salve to the loneliness of a child that misses a lost parent. I know that as I spoke with her, I took part of her words as well as my own to cherish.