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Life imitates art

Edvard Munch in my garden.

Edvard Munch in my garden.

Turquoise water cool against my feet,  I hesitate on the stairs. As I steel myself to plunge in, I glance beyond the pool to the sour orange tree. The small talavera turtle planter had fallen back off the red brick wall, his large mouth open to the sky. Is he sympathetic to my plight, or is he laughing at me? The water isn’t cold by any means, it’s the contrast between it and Merida’s hot sultry weather that makes it seem so to me. My snowbird friends, those thick blooded northerners, would never hesitate.

My blood is thin, I chill easily, but I long for the relief from the sweat that drips. I can feel a drop of perspiration making it’s way down the back of my leg, following a familiar trail starting at the back of my knee.

Why is it so difficult? I glance at the turtle, laugh and jump in.The Scream by Edvard Munch, 1893

About Theresa Diaz Gray

Born in New York City, I grew up in California, and have lived in 3 countries and 6 states. I'm a first generation Cuban-American who lives in Merida, Yucatan, Mexico. I'm committed to living an abundant and creative life and helping others do so too through DIY!

3 comments

  1. A bit of Zen to star the day. Thanks.

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