the regular crowd are asleep....
In my 20's, 4 am saw me winding up my evening of nightclubs/concerts/parties/some mischief . In my 30's, I saw it regularly with a baby over my shoulder, patiently waiting for a burp or a fart to appear ( from the baby!) . I swore then I would sleep as much as possible if I ever had the chance.
Well, my 40's have seen me sleeping well until recently, when 4 am has seen me wake , unbidden by anything, and I have marvelled at the clarity of the night sky .I know I should not open my eyes and try go back to sleep, but recently, I have peeked out the windows and spent some time with the night view. It is very,very peaceful.
So this morning, I woke at 4 am, and went painting. I had everything ready at the door, jumped into some warmish clothes and boots, and went out to paint.I wanted to paint the view I spied at nights, across the farmlands towards a distant farmhouse, the crossroads with State Highway 39 and the foothills of the Karamu range.
I loved it. Quiet,still,dark,peaceful.I painted for about 20 minutes when suddenly, the cat appeared silently , rubbed against my leg and I levitated. Quite high, I have to add, with the added benefit of a zombie-like gurgle of fear to add insult to the injury.
After I had reduced my heart rate from a gazillion and coaxed it out of my throat back to it's normal position in my chest, I continued painting. Not 5 minutes later, a possum had some kind of fit in the vines covering the pergola behind me, thrashed around wildly and fell the gravel and sped away into the paddock next door. I was gratified to see the cat companion was as shocked as I was by that particular interuption. We both stared into the dark, trying to gain control of our sphincters and get back to the business of painting. I say we because anthropomorphising makes me feel better about being scared and alone in the dark. So does making up words.
|Sunday morning 4 am|
20 x 30 cm
oil on archival paper