Work

Maybe it's like the artist who hasn't picked up a brush for too long,
Who is surprised his first mix of paint matches the color in his mind's eye.
Or like picking cherries for the first time since last summer,
Popping one in your mouth and being surprised again at how the juice hits you sweet and tart in the same burst.
Somehow it's like the ocean in June, wonderfully uncomfortable, uncontrollable, and irresistable.
You tingle all over stepping back onto shore.
"This is who I am and what I was made for and how I'm supposed to live," I think.
But it's not really true.
It's a work, a taste, a dip of the toe into the ocean of what is to come.
I really, really like it.