Waiting

I ordered brushes last week, and I have felt frozen since waiting for them to arrive.  I’m used to thinking about things one at a time; a very simplistic method.  I wonder when that happened.  If we recorded our conversations we would have content.  I read the letters written between Vincent and Theo.  It consists mostly of boring accounts of financial problems and daily life, but scattered throughout are the insights Van Gogh had about painting.   What is meaningful happens one at a time amidst waiting.

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