I am moving slowly this morning. Why? There is no reason. Lying in bed with my favorite blankie the fan whirling above me. It seems so comfortable to just stay here awhile. No outside noise do I hear. Just the sound of the fan pushing the air around the room. The room is a peaceful room. Sponge painted walls in soft pastel pinks with bold white accents. With five Bessie Gutmann artworks hanging on the walls. I have always enjoyed her art. Ever since I saw her art work hanging on my grandmother’s wall. They reflect peacefulness. There is beauty, softness and innocence in her art. As I glance around the room I see things. Things that have no eternal value. Just things that please me. Photos of baby birds, their mama built their nest on the corner of my fence in the backyard. The backyard of a place I rented some years back. It was special because that was my praying spot. Just me and God. These things help me to remember  past times.  But they truly are only things. I look intently at a piece of artwork done for me by an artist. An artist who is a best friend. The piece describes me as a Joan of Arc. I was so overwhelmed by this piece. It was and is a reflection of my life. 

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