Busy Hands Are Happy Hands

Seems like if I go too long not making something, 

I feel a little sick inside.  

Unsettled, ill at ease, restless, 

irritated, uncomfortable, 

you get my drift?

Once I start 

drawing or painting, 

I calm down, 

breath slows,

heart in rhythm, 

mind gets lost.  

I am lost...

in color and paint and line.

Something always turns into 

something else.

Plans go awry,

mind gets tongue-tied.

Almost always,

images

stare back at me

I never intended to invite.

I like these party crashers.

Bold, ugly, pretty, dark, mysterious, 

kaleidoscopic in color or grey with black.

I feel better after their arrival--

success after set-back.

All I really know is 

busy hands are happy hands.