Cusp

Early into Friday, mathematically patterned prettiness flowing from these small speakers. (Michael Nyman's "Cornfield", from the film Prospero's Books.) I was looking at an artbook about George Tooker, regarding his paintings. Feeling clean and thinking of life. And art.

Progression, too.

The music lifts. The art, so individualistic and full of meaning, exposes potential.

Things dust over, as time passes. Forgetfulness and disuse work a slow erasure. Small changes can sweep some of that away, though. A tiny current of air, a accidental brush of a fingertip: and truth is un-grayed and revealed again.

I feel, just a little, like I'm on the cusp of an un-graying.