You can become blind by seeing each day as a similar one.  Each day is a different one, each day brings a miracle of it's own. It's just a matter of paying attention to this miracle.  ~ Paulo Coelho Days should speak and a multitude of years should teach wisdom (Job 32:7). Kumi Yamashita: Creased Japanese paper, single light source, shadow Notes from this morning ... I wake up early, like three o'clock early and sometimes I have particular stuff to think about ... I intend to have specific stuff to think about, because if I don't my mind ranges to ... frettings ... towards regrets half formed, second guessings.  Last night I had intended to think about the art work pictured above ... and I did, it took about three minutes to complete the ride on that train of thought.  I thought this would be even more interesting if the paper had even just one word ... maybe a name or any word ... maybe even an entire story.  Then I thought of all the stories that I know and even those I don't know ... those stories with no words, and those stories with words that choose to be unspoken ... unwritten. This week I helped my husband clean out his car.  There were receipts on the floor board between the seats, maybe they are important, to me they look like trash.  I piled them up like dollar bills stacked smiling face up, then I rolled them in a wad, just like the wad of money spent which they attest to.  Then ... he flipped through them.  Yes ... here is the receipt for that hand tool that turned out to be a duplicate and now rides in the back waiting for a return trip. We found also an unsealed envelope addressed to G'mere ... with I licked and slid shut, and L placed a stamp on.  We drove through the post office drop off on our way to fill up with gas.  Yesterday, my mother in law called, perplexed.  What should she make of a letter delivered with Two's return address but not one single word on the stationery neatly folded within.  She expressed a few ideas which did not make me smile and I listened as my husband explained the innocent set of circumstances leading up to the posting of the missive.  I thought ... there is a story to be told by a black sheet of paper.  Maybe even many stories. Yes ... that wasn't where my thoughts were supposed to go.  My train jumped the tracks. Then, I thought about creating something like this ... this art ... from a slab of clay ... as a wall hanging.  Hmmm ... not a face ... sorting through ideas I decided on a cloud.  A cloud shadow ... long with the morning sun and diminishing as the day heats up ... just the opposite.  I love everything about the idea. I've looked at clouds from both sides now ...  Joni Mitchell. My house feels heavier with less people in it.