We are in New Mexico. The sun bares down and the dust and flies flow freely. But even here, in the city of rocks, where water restrictions persist and heat fills the air there is life. Hope in the form of trees breaking through the rocks. They have nothing to feed on, not really. No soil. Just air and dreams.
And so they call for me to paint them so I can remember that life is possible when there is little else providing. We are strong. I am here. The struggle, painted in violets and oranges, is beautiful.
Keep painting.
