One Page of Rectangles

It's been the kind of week where nothing happened and everything was fine. The apartment gets warm by two in the afternoon and I've been leaving the window open because the fan doesn't do much anyway. Gerald is fine. The bowl is still on the windowsill. Summer, basically.

I bought a sketchbook a few weeks ago, cheap one from the pharmacy, the kind with the black cover and the little elastic band. I wasn't thinking anything specific when I picked it up, just that I had some time and wanted something to do with my hands that wasn't typing. I opened it the other afternoon and drew some rectangles. I drew what I thought was the window. I looked at it for a minute and then I put the pencil down. It wasn't bad in an interesting way. It was just bad. The rectangles were lopsided. The window looked like a door that had given up. I closed the sketchbook and put it on the table and it's been sitting there since, and I have not felt the need to open it again, but I also haven't put it away, so I guess we'll see.

pencil, paper, and absolutely no talent, an honest combination

That's the whole story. No lesson. No next step. Just a sketchbook with one page in it, sitting on my kitchen table in June.

a page of rectangles. a window. artistic vision: unclear.