Cleaning My Brush

Curled tucked
Fetal position
Rolled
Warm
Like a hot cross bun
Baking in the white down
Oven of my bed
Rest warms me
As I clean my brush, swipe the bristles
To remove the residue
Folded into a two am pose
Snug as a bug in a rug
Soul rest cleans
The brush
So I can wake anew
Mercy
Full
Of grace
To create
White canvas waits
And the uncurling of knees to chest
Legs at rest
Pretzel twists of arms and legs
Springs from the layered nest
Re-creation begins anew.

 

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One thought on “Cleaning My Brush

  1. i so resonate with the image of a bun warming in the oven…that is how I feel most morning when I don’t want to remove myself from the cocoon that has been created in my warm and beautiful bed. But there are great adventures to be have…and that only comes in the lengthening and stretching of our limbs and leaping from this place of safety.

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