Our evenings tend to be quiet, but when an invitation arrived for the showing of a dear friend's artwork, we trekked out into this sunset...the sky one of God's loveliest canvases.
Mandolin music led us into the gallery, and I counted hats and held tightly to small hands as we made our way through the crowd to find the unassuming soul whose hands had shaped lives and now held a fine tipped brush. Her canvases are silvery bark and found feathers, and the tiny scenes are familiar ones -- a patient heron, a house tucked into quiet trees.
We found her, shy in the bustle, and she hugged us close with those beautiful, gifted hands.
The children admired sculpture and silly cards and hand-crafted jewelry before we walked out into the night to an event centered on Nutcracker-themed art. Tchaikovsky's familiar strains sent dancers onto the sidewalk, twirling. Another lovely friend was found, this one making art with her pointe shoes and grace.
That evening we saw truth in the words of Philip James Bailey,
"Art is man's nature; nature is God's art."