Scratching like a hamster in his sawdust,
that piece of chalk isn’t quitting, is it?
Dusting the brown card that will become your creation.
Hopefully the first of many for you,
how great it is to see you doing it.
You’re a natural artist, my Darling.
It’s in your blood;
it whips around like a viral hurricane,
swirling up your arteries
and expelling slates of beauty down your veins.
These chips of skill may look splintered and jagged,
but when they fall from the sky
they cut into the loamy ground and grow.
They grow massively and spread widely;
Small seedlings of creativity that get smoother
with each passing, maturing, hardening
design.
Just because they become less sharp
and resemble pebbles found in mountain streams,
the ones that have been scrubbed down to an uber-natural gleam,
they still settle and embed with the same vigour.
They don’t sink, they flatten the soft lush grass, now.
The smoother they become, the more area they lay claim to.
One day, a beautiful patio of emerald tokens of your skill
will adorn this fertile, virgin land.
I look forward to seeing it
because it will fill my soul with its grace.
Your grace.
Crafted with your patience and with your dedication.
If nature is to die for us,
let it be your imagination that succeeds it.
Continue and persist, my Love.
The Disinterested Philosopher Gets By 