Despite using a ruler and measuring, I somehow can’t draw a straight line. Might it be that my own horizon is crooked?
Today, February 14th, I dislike the Valentine’s aspect, because my heart is still bereft.
The logic behind reverently unwrapping the two small bears with heart-shaped angel wings seemed questionable; they were a gift from Tony. He is gone but the bears are still here.
This morning I set them atop the fireplace mantle and said aloud “Happy Valentine’s Day, Tony.” This evening I will enfold them in white tissue paper once again and place them in the bottom drawer of my dresser. They are small bears, one pink and one red. I love them for sentimental reasons.
A gal pal is teaching me the principles of hand-crafting greeting cards. It’s painstaking work, made worse yesterday when I tried to replicate the cover picture of a coffee table book for a Happy Hearts card. The sunset scene was a simple one, two colours on dark blue cardstock. Alas, the horizontal dark strip, pasted on to define where the earth meets the sky, looked wider at one end than the other.
Though hardly discernible, I could see without doubt that my own perspective is off-kilter when looking to the horizon.