Morning in the Studio

It is early
and the light is not right.
The sun is covered by clouds.
It rains,

And yet, you stand at the table,
brush in hand,
unfinished canvas before you,
imagining.

Imagining sunlight where there is none.
Imagining the smell of coffee,
the rustle of silk in the morning.

Imagining love in the sunlight,
and music not yet heard.
each of these things real as breath,
only, not yet.

You put down the brush,
and let it soak in the turpentine
that fills the air with it’s hopefulness.
The sun will come out this afternoon they say
and you will be there to greet it.

About this poem.

Sometimes, to find joy, we have to imagine it when it is not there,
so that when it comes, we are ready.

Tom