It's a morning getting underway here with the clouds just emerging.
I feel bad identifying this place as it's becoming crowded on a summer day in August. I used to paint on the side of the road without thinking. Even saw a horse running down the side of this road once.
It's just that when someone stops, it seems they think I am there for their sake, part of the day's entertainment and then when they say "Oh, how nice," I feel kind of a fool and want to go home.
The opposite is really happening, they are very intimate moments, a kind of Zen exercise and if I can get through it without too much interruption, I can judge by the painting how centered I was and then in tandem with the moments, how alive.
They are very special times and then the moments, even the memories of the time, are gone -- the painting is left -- as something else, some kind of evidence.
Well, I finished up and the thunderstorm was arriving as I drove home.