If chosen differently, would my hand wrap around charcoal
To produce simple, contrasting line
With shades sifting just so, to hint the human soul?

Would I have lived years there, instead of here,
Missing grazing and raising of animals
as they model unity, completeness, softness?

There, I can readily imagine falling into conversations
About rhythm, form, and shape with people of the trade,
Totally immersed, exchanging loneliness to fulfilled sensations.

Here, though isolated from community of artistic stimulation
I think it is my place of being, of seeing how nature lives
That inspires me to dream I’m a painter without any limitations.