Blues and Greens swirl together. A dash of red.
Light flows through leaves, casting a faint green hue on a notebook left carelessly thrown under a tree.
The shadow of a dragonfly resting on a yellow flower.
A small house at the end of a lane, with bookshelves on every wall barely illuminated by a waning fire.
A starry night.
(no, not this Starry Night, Van Gogh already painted this one)
A crumbling brick wall, once painted a vibrant blue, now faded to a dull grey.
The ashes of a smoldering campfire.
A field of white snow with old fence posts marking the boundary of what was once a horse farm.
It is so easy, this mind painting. The colors always mix perfectly. The brush strokes are exactly right. No smudges or mistakes.
Perfection. But perfection that only I can see.
It is easy to keep beautiful thoughts and images to myself, safely locked away in my mind where no harm can come to them.
Sharing, taking the step from imagining to creating, that is messy.
Those same pictures that are so perfect in my mind won't be right on canvas.
The words and stories that come so easily, especially in that magical place that exists in the fleeting moments between awake and asleep, don't flow from pen to paper without changes, and edits, and frustration.
Blots of ink.
Creating is messy.
But when the ink blots are cleared away, sometimes there is something beautiful left behind. When the words don't flow and the images in my mind are a fleeting memory - when the mess overwhelms - the hope of the beautiful inspires me to keep creating.