I grew up with murals on the walls. Curvy, happy, yellow ones.
It was the 1970’s, yellow was my Mom‘s favorite color,
and she’s always needed to be creatively expressive.
So yes, there were murals wherever we lived.
And it just occurred to me that those murals might be the reason
I can’t see a wall without also seeing a canvas.
Or life, as Paradise wanting to be created.