It’s time to paint again. The air nips cool at my cheeks and I can feel the mental preparation to new birth. Deep dark thoughts, introspective curling under blankets and a need for isolation even though my housemates are cooking a feast. The sweet smell of baked vegetables slinks up the stairway and penetrates my cocoon. Tempting. It would be so easy to make that step to human connection. Hot cups of rose petal tea and hugs await me if I want to exit my mood. But time has taught me that I need this time to germinate. While I grapple boldly with the Fish of Life, the moon traverses the inky sky, growing fuller in the belly. Paint says the moon. You are not alone. You are a part of the rich universe that connects all life. You are a tree. A breath of air. A wave that falls onto the rocky shore. Paint.