Dreaming in a backwards motion feels more real than being awake mid planning of paintings. Dipping the spoon in the sleeping world and feasting on the leftovers. Playing in my paints and loving all of it.
There is this time in my life when I grabbed every moment holding like popsicles in the Summer. Couldn't focus ... too much planning.
The parts I miss about making every second I don't want for myself anymore. Noticing I didn't live much in always making. Maybe that is growth.
Do have great plans on putting my next book together in the Winter.