While picking a jalapeño and some cilantro for my breakfast this morning, I was keenly aware that the garden was starting to have a late summer look. Cilantro, as well as calendulas were going to seed. Yellow leaves were appearing here and there, and a little green caterpillar sat eating purposely on a kale leaf.

Looking across the desert, the wild vegetation was going through the same process — flowering, seeding, preparing for the next phase of their lives. A bit of melancholy swept over me like a cold breeze. Summer almost over?

Then a glimpse of color caught my eye. I moved a large leaf and there was the first pumpkin turning orange. The pumpkin was small by any standard, and yet, it was busy fulfilling its purpose. Busy becoming orange. What a marvelous thing. Miraculous really. I smiled.

And on the subject of miracles, I held my latest grandson a week ago. He was fresh and fragile, and trusting. As I rocked him, I looked over at his mama, my daughter, and recalled how I had rocked her similarly, in what seemed like such a short time ago. We sat there three generations locked in love. And I watched his sleeping face smile as he dreamed his baby dreams. We are born happy. He was busy becoming and it starts with our dreams. I smiled.

Back in the studio, re-entry can sometimes be difficult after a trip. So, I started a painting. The act of painting always grounds me. Pulls me into the present. I started by mixing Naphthol Red with a cool black and got this great purple-y violet color. As I was building the face, I remembered I had picked up a jar of Golden’s So Flat Cadmium Red on my trip and I wanted to see if it was as matte as they claimed. I painted a swipe across the shoulder. Against the violet, it looked almost orange. And I smiled.