Morning is a canvas, broad and tall. “Do with me as you will,” it says.
So I take all the shades of anger, from rage to grousing, and set them aside —for later perhaps, but not for now.
The three large tubes of regret and melancholy too, I hide them in a drawer.
And over here, under a cloth, are seven different hues of conceit and pettiness. They go into the locked cabinet.
Recrimination briefly catches my eye, but I set it aside as well.
And soon, I am left with these:
Hope, resilience, wonder, generosity, vigor, action, kindness, perseverance, humility, and gratitude.
I dip the edge of my brush in hope, and touch it to the canvas.