I grasp the color between my thumb and index finger,
light and flexible
Glide the pastel against paper like it’s a skate on ice,
smooth and curvy.
An arch, a wave,
swirl to the edge of the white
it is sweet how my fingers move to calm my mind,
breathing light back into shadowy strings
I color fast, then slow
back and forth
fast, then slow–
but my favorite,
the best strike is the quick light one
the one you could barely see against the paper,
because this move needs a loose grip, supple movement,
acceptance of flaws.
