Life

The parched earth goes on and on. When a hot wind hits the surface, dust is whipped up into the sky, As they move, they pile up again, covering their surroundings with sand. Time spent avoiding the sun's scorching, searing external winds and sands. He eats, hydrates his throat and calms his body and mind. Sometimes he even picks up a bottle on a wall shelf and savors it carefully. My collection is hard to come by in the desert and rare by visitors. My little comfort and pleasure in a scorching world. Meanwhile, the cat curled up by the window in spite of the heat. With his back to the sun and earth, he simply falls asleep. While I rest, the canvas waits for its turn. I haven't decided what to draw yet. This room, that cat, or the view out. Or something completely new. Numerous possibilities lurk there. What does it produce, what can it produce? As I ask, I put my hand on the blank door of creation.