My mother owned an art gallery at one time, and selected some paintings that spoke to her. They are here with me, artfully arranged by my brother. I look over at one now, and what I see from here brings tears. I see it differently than before. I see a woman, lying on her back in the sea. What I thought was a wave is her finger, holding a cloud of yellow, amidst a deep calm of violet and gray. That yellow cloud, looks like a bird to me now, a Meadowlark, a bird that sings, "so happy to see you." The woman's head rests on a pillow of yellow in the sea. Rocks, washed by waves, support. Two gulls pull the cords, opening and closing the blinds, of air. I feel, when I am in this space where my mother died, that she speaks to me in all sorts of ways. She wants me to know she is well, and I do. And, when I am outside - well, then, Mother Nature holds me in her hands likes a small bird. She holds my chirps to her lips, like God. I am a prayer, a whisper, a shout, as are you. A beautiful Sunday to All!! And may the heat of California abate. I read that it is the warming sea that is keeping our fog from cooling the land. I feel concern for the plants and the trees, and the lungs that are yours. I send the wish for cooling breezes your way. May the fog find a way to pull itself from the warm sea, and return.