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Vardry Spencer

Random Mutterings

I love it--those little and unexpected surprises of life--
The little clown laughing from the eyes of children,
an unsuspected gentle touch from a friend who senses
my needs.

I saw a woman once, a poor woman who had nothing
in the world. But her body moved with such elegance,
such sensuality--not sexuality--such dignity that folk
had to turn around and glance twice at this miracle.

A tiny kitten walking up your leg and licking your chin.
A flaming sunset which refuses to let you look the
other way.

A moment of passionate lovemaking when all is burned
up in the fire of the moment--vivid random colors of
love and release.

I saw a madman once who was muttering to himself.
I said look at that stream brother. And he did. And he
smiled and forgot the demons of the mind. Reality heals.

Have you ever followed the melody of a perfect voice?
It creates you and itself as it moves, leaving no clues
of it's existence while it slides forward defining the moment.

I watch death and life surrendering to each other, playing
their constant game of breathing in and breathing out,
painting and erasing. Life and death are the children of
sacredness.

Wild and wanton fury of the wind. Reckless, not seeing
in its blind movements the foot prints of its destruction.
Yet, it is an innocent child, thoughtless and unknowing.

I love it--this life of ours.
I have no choice.
It is not up to the painting to choose

The painting is lucky just to be.