Why Paint?


Fly with me to a prehistoric time

not in the fertile crescent

but to the northern clime

Where survival hangs by a single thread

to make it throuth the winter long

to survive the lonely months



People need more than meat and fire

through the coldest times,

hope is essential

one must nourish the mind with memory and dream

thus shaman storytellers, ancestors of bards

became the essential thing

With words, rhythm and movement too

they would paint the world in spring


ice melted, flowing into rainbows of wildflowers

In the dead of winter they took their clan

to distant shores, a far green country

that knew eternal summer

and was ever brimming with the sweetest fruits

and fragrantly intoxicating blossoms



Then from each morsel of dried up food

they would extrude the fulfilling memory

of that last harvest, when nuts and grains

were so bountiful they danced with flames

for joy under the full moon

into a starlit night

hearts bursting with love and gratitude

for Mother Earth’s many gifts


Even then the tales were not ended by far.

For then ’twas time to speak of monsters and heros

of survival against seemingly invincible foes

with wit and wisdom, strength and perseverence,

faith and charity, love and longing

made narratives to stir the heart

a hundred days and more, this way could pass

in a twinkle of the mind


so that when spring at long last erupts,

the clan emerges their winter’s den,

maybe a little weak,

mayhaps a bit weary,

But stronger by far in will

and in harmony for sharing the journey

in such adventures of the mind together



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