The tender heart. . .Will's gift

 

At times in life, you are stopped in your tracks by a gesture so pure, so sweet.  Last night, after a movie and dinner with good friends, as we pulled into the driveway where I live, I immediately saw a beautiful, perfect yellow Daffodil lying in front of my studio door. . .as if placed there!  My heart sensed and knew immediately who would make such a gesture and it was confirmed by his father this morning.  It was my eight-year-old neighbor, cub scout extraordinaire. . .and as most little boys go, a hidden, shy fountain of tenderness.   

You see, I'm moving - as in packing up and leaving the neighborhood that has embraced me for the past four years.  Not of free will unfortunately - my landlord has listed this home for sale and the sign has gone up in the yard.  My little neighbor saw it yesterday and fully realized the implication. 

Having my studio face their driveway, I've watched young Will grow from a  barely perceptible small child riding in his car seat into a young boy helping with chores, bringing in the empty, various curbside carts (garbage, recycle, yard) . . .which he now races, tall and lean, down the driveway with such speed I hold my breath and pause my painting brush until he's made it safely down the hill -me smiling all the while remembering such childhood delights.  I too grew up with hills and steep driveways.  A silent, caring bond.  I'm not at all surprised he has sensed my deep admiration, as he's an intuitive child and is being guided in life by stellar parents.  

  

 

The snowman he recently made in the corner of my backyard was brilliant - the Herculean effort involved rolling the snow down the hill into gigantic proportions!  He diligently worked and created while I painted warm and snug in my studio, peeking out every once in a while to see his progress.  It lingered long after the rest of the snow had melted, reminding me of his childhood joy.

 



I've painted Will. . .and his dogs, with the blessing of his family.  They have helped me evolve in my transition from watercolor to oil, from still life to portrait and beyond.  A gift in and of itself - a sweet memory I shall take with me. 

 

Just as we're now seeing the spring flowers making their presence known in the cycle of change, of the sure seasons, Will's gesture pointed out to me, so simply, that we often leave footprints without knowing.  It's worth remembering and will perhaps make the packing up a little sweeter but no less sad. 

 

At this point I have no idea where I'm going or where I'll land.  Stay tuned for the next chapter!