Several years ago I was persuaded to join a group of artists who meet each week to explore the world of marketing our various arts. As a writer, I was not at all sure I belonged in the group, although I was pretty sure that I worked every bit as hard as the other (sometimes well known) artists in the group. It was a good thing to do and over time I have explored other art forms that I might not have tried otherwise.
It is a great group. We meet each Wednesday morning over coffee to discuss what's happening in the world of art, where to hang the images we capture with brush and camera, what charity we support and who sold a piece - despite the depression.
Cambridge, a town of rich history and present poverty, is working with the Main Street initiative to breathe life back into the once-busy downtown. Every second Saturday sees a constant flow of visitors to Race Street where a number of art galleries open their doors to spill light on the sidewalks and welcome visitors who come to see the art we shape and weave and paint.
Usually I sign my books, which are mostly historical fiction, but I do other things as well. Sometimes I even paint, as in the case of the photo for this post. Oddly enough, words got in the mix. Look closely and you'll see what I mean. I guess a tiger can't really change its spots, the words are there despite my best intentions.
I hope you enjoy my words and that you always walk on the sunny side. Terry
Tree Words
There are words in the trees,
The branches scribble them
Across the sky
While God trims the deadwood
And the wind blows hot
On summer mornings before
The rain falls to water
The grass; and my prayers
Rise to heaven on the
Wings of jays and cardinals
As I plot my day
Through moments of
Inspiration and regret.
What words are these
That scroll the dreams
Of common man who fails
And falls on his way to
Understanding love?
