Yes, I just used Jackson Pollock’s name as a verb. And yes, I’m seeing art in the rinse water of the black beans that were soaking in my kitchen.
You see, this is what happens when one doesn’t get to loll about Parisian cafes scribbling in overpriced notebooks. One is, instead, finishing the morning dishes and thinking ahead to the evening’s meal for three.
One is finding, yet one more, of those half-a-toothpick-sized, day-glo Star Wars Lego light sabers, adrift beneath one’s toes. Mingling with dust bunnies and stray garlic skins tucked over by the oven.
No aimless wanders between park benches here. It’s time to drive to the school bus stop before sunrise. La Seine is far away.
The present locale is much further west. The water, it’s in the sink, with beauty in a black bean.
The practical, humbly offering itself as inspiration.