Slow lightning
Ralph
Waldo Emerson once called enthusiasm, “leaping lightning.”
I wonder what he’d call a
quiet enthusiasm. Crawling
lightning? Probably an oxymoron. But that’s what my love of drawing is. I am deeply, totally committed to capturing
my thoughts and experiences in images.
It’s not just something I do – it’s an outworking of who I am.
But
I’m not one to shout about it. I just do
it. And share it when I can. Quietly.
So, at 8:18, I am drawing, as
I do on all my flights. Only this time, I have an audience. A brother (around age eleven) and a sister (possibly
fourteen) fill out my row and I am suddenly aware that they’re watching me.
Taking
out my ear buds, I smile. They say,
“You’re really good!” I thank them. Then I ask the boy, closest to me, “Do you
like to draw?”
“No,
not really,” he answers and returns to his video game.
I
notice his sister is filling in a page in one of those complex coloring
books. We talk about her enjoyment of
art. I ask her if I can draw something
for her and she requests flowers. As I
begin my attempt – floral illustrations not being my forte – I see that she now
has paper out and is drawing a flower herself.
And
a little later, his game finished, her brother starts drawing. I am amused to see what is on his phone’s screen. Yes, this is a win.
This is how passions are passed on. Hand-to-hand. Rubbing shoulders. Close enough to observe as a course of life. It’s how I received my love of gardening from my father, watching him tenderly nurture his tomato plants. Or music from my brother, overhearing his guitar through late-night walls. Or birds of prey from sitting with my friend, Scott, on lonely mountain ridges tracking migrating hawks.
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