Passing traffic; a rich buttery yellow on that battered
cement mixer makes it look like a dairy churn.
We pass roses tall and intensely red in the humid sunlight.
The bridge flexes under our feet, the creek runs below in the shade.
Mum drawing grapevine leaves and tendrils at the General Store Gallery.
Making patterns. Guitar music and sandwiches, chilled water.
Suzanne running a class on perspective.
Perhaps next week I will join in.
For now I am painting Christmas cards.