The Hand that Paints the Sky

Every day, my breath catches at the incredible landscape surrounding our new home near Prague. Shafts of low light sweep across a vast field. The morning sun skims across the lingering haze from the valley below, where spires and buildings and the Castle rise up out of the morning mist.

Some mornings, the view has been rose-tinted with the waking sun. Others, the crescent moon hangs like a glowing hook hovering above the dark forest. On every occasion I find myself breathless at the scenery, I can’t help remembering the Hand that paints the sky.

In this life we’ve been given, the sweetest expression of gratitude for the gift of life may be in the full expression of ourselves through our art. Out of love, and an open heart, we can respond with our hearts in our work, in gratitude not only for the gift of life itself, but also for the treasure of freedom of expression we’ve been given.