sketch

So the weather veers off kilter from summer, the summer of rains and unscorched lawns, and I reach for the nearest surface to paint on. I find another piece of black boarded aluminum, and lifting a piece of chalk from its pink, rhinestoned box I draw a scribbly blueprint.
There is always hope in the sketch that starts a new painting, like the opening credits and the music that seeps through the letters and levers open the brain's logic door. Out drifts sense and lets in sensibility.
Maybe I need coffee...