Author: naphtalia

I am an artist, a friend, a sister, a mother, an aunt, a creator.

Color Ideas

As my sister is currently debating a re-paint of her living room, I have begun a list of ideas myself.  Here are my ideas:

foamy white
silver-fishy silver
shell cream
velvet blue-black
watery spongey mozzarella white
yellow-seeded-cherry squishy red
sun and skin brown
grainy-windblown black-grey

Ok, so maybe these won’t work for the living room.  I tried.

2

Calm Ocean Day

Today, the ocean is calm.
Despite its vastness,
despite its responsibilities,
despite the storms it has endured,
today, the ocean is calm.

Today, the ocean is resting
under a silky duvet over a
down comforter.
With sea creatures sleeping,
today, the ocean is resting.

“Shoosh, trickle, shoosh,”
I sigh a restful sigh, too,
as the boat passes through
this calm ocean day.
“Shoosh, trickle, shoosh.”

It is memorable when the wide, unpredictable, often irrational ocean is calm.
You will talk about that day again.

3

Naphtalia Is White

Entering her quarters at the end of the long apartment hall, Naphtalia sinks into the whiteness of it all.  Simplicity.  “Simply be,” the white walls coo to her.

Naphtalia sets her house-flips in the foyer closet, closes the heavy white doors, and sits on the single white letto made up with white linen sheets and cushions.  The white indoor shutters are closed and the silver locks offer a small, honest shimmer to the room.  It’s as if the hardware wants to sincerely let her know this room is special and specialness will come from it.

Naphtalia begins to listen.

The bored white, linen-draped chair in the corner of the room has something to say.  “Although I am bored for lack of use, if you ever need me, I’m here.”

Naphtalia’s white, cream, and grey clothes rest comfortably in the white drawers and closet.  None of them wish to lay out on the bed and disturb the white peace of the room.  This is especially true of the four bright dresses hanging in the closet and the handful of black tank tops.  “Please, don’t put us on display,” they beg, “Simplicity is so much nicer and better for you, my dear.”

“Alright,” Naphtalia sighs, “Tutto posto.”

The children are asleep next door and Vin and Amore have fed the rest of the family.  The bar has been visited and the e-mails checked.  Even the latest book has been read.  There is nothing left to do tonight.

With legs criss-crossed, Naphtalia breathes deeply.  In.  Out.  Ancorra.  In.  Out.

There is nothing left to do, but melt the day away until the entire body and soul are set aright again.  Set white, simple, pure.  It is time to wash out the spirit, to rid it of the dusty, muddy kicks of life.

Breathing in–the spirit water shushes down.  Breathing out–the spirit water rings and turns through the drain.  The dirty day descends and the clean, true spirit remains.

All is shiny, even the liver.  Naphtalia’s humble organs offer thanks for the day, put themselves in place, then lie down to rest.

On Naphtalia’s heart lies a shiny, silver lock–a song of specialness.  “I am here and I am special.  I am simply me, simply, spectacularly, especially me.  I am white.”

At the end of the long, white, apartment hall, Naphtalia sleeps, dreaming of simplicity.

2

Forgotten Words #1

Words we love, but sometimes forget to use, or at least forget to use with sincerity:

darling
gorgeous
stunning
excellent
precious
special
significant
integral
unmatched

Which one will you use today?

2

Musical Pictures: Harry, Elizabeth, and the Rain

Sometimes the only thing that comes to my mind is a picture, a vignette that not only pleases, but intrigues the eye of the heart.  A few days ago, I saw Harry leaving his lovely Elizabeth in their living room.

Harry was clearly upset.  The final straw was the rain.  Harry was frustrated with his situation.  The pain of the unknown was etching itself into his face.  He didn’t know what his next step should be except that it needed to be out the door.  He needed to keep moving toward something.  His goal was resolution, whatever that meant.  And so he left.  And there was Elizabeth in their Victorian living room with a bay window and long olive-grey drapes.  Knowing a fierce loneliness herself, Elizabeth ached as her lovely left the room.  She no more enjoyed the rain than Harry did.  In fact, she felt it as a cold-clock to her heart.  There was rain upstairs, rain at the train station, rain in her eyes, rain in her heart, rain everywhere, and now there was actual rain outside.  For Elizabeth and Harry, it had been raining for months.  Elizabeth didn’t know when the storm would end; she barely knew how it had begun.  She knew it was cold and harsh and that was all.  There was nothing to be done, but believe that it must bring some good.  Just as the tangible rain would bring flowers and green grass in a few short weeks, the rain in her heart would bring health and confidence.  So as Harry pounded out the door to his resolution, Elizabeth stayed inside to wait out the storm.  Should she have gone with him?  This was her most pressing question.

This was my curious and mental snapshot.  There was music playing.

1

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