Coffee With Cream, and a Poem

11x14 inches, oil on canvas

Last fall my husband and I spent a week at Dillman's Resort, where I took an excellent workshop by Robert Burridge, and my husband did his best to explore the area by bicycle, despite heavy rains.  One of my favorite memories is the mornings we talked down to the pier with our coffee, and listened to the cries of loons out on Sand Lake. I painted this from a photo I took one morning, and remembering the beauty of that fall day is helping me deal with late winter.

[Over a cup of coffee]

By Stephen Dobyns

Over a cup of coffee or sitting on a park bench or
walking the dog, he would recall some incident
from his youth—nothing significant—climbing a tree
in his backyard, waiting in left field for a batter's
swing, sitting in a parked car with a girl whose face
he no longer remembered, his hand on her breast
and his body electric; memories to look at with
curiosity, the harmless behavior of a stranger, with
nothing to regret or elicit particular joy. And
although he had no sense of being on a journey,
such memories made him realize how far he had
traveled, which, in turn, made him ask how he
would look back on the person he was now, this
person who seemed so substantial. These images, it
was like looking at a book of old photographs,
recognizing a forehead, the narrow chin, and
perhaps recalling the story of an older second
cousin, how he had left long ago to try his luck in
Argentina or Australia. And he saw that he was
becoming like such a person, that the day might
arrive when he would look back on his present self
as on a distant relative who had drifted off into
uncharted lands.