Time

Parts. Pieces. Breath. One by one, we count it all off subconsciously. Where is it we believe we are going? Here I am. Here I am, trying to get with the present, trying not to wish the bus would get going so I can get to work and get to work so I can get through the day and get home again. Stupid. Daft. Pushing through life like it's one big, crowded shopping mall.

I become engrossed in the colours and texture of the coat on the woman in front of me. The pattern takes me to a simpler time, a time where comfort was found in time itself, in the time it took to do things, in the "manual" of it all. I remember the clear-bodied coloured pen and the clear cogs of the Spirograph, the straight pins and paper - the potential. I loved this, the act of it as much as the complicated final drawing. It all amazed me. How did someone figure this out?

Cartoon colours were vivid and the characters were simple and bold in design. They were huge and hilarious in personality - from the meep meep of the roadrunner to the misguided antics of Yogi Bear searching out his pic-i-nic baskets with his anxious and steadfast pal, Boo-Boo.

Breathe. Stop. Rest here in this moment.