An Ark of color. A whimsy thing. Sometimes full, sometimes double. Bright, or hazy. Almost always emits a thrill; to share, to capture, journal in your memory books. As if the gods themselves came down and put a ring of gold on your finger, we claim a promise. Whatever it is we conjure to take hope or comfort; that our loved ones are happy and looking down on us.
I choose the whimsy. A child’s crayon, art to display under a magnet. The thrill is the same.
Logos 