There is something magical about capturing memories in ink and watercolor in the pages of a sketchbook. The blank white handmade cotton paper begins to transform into a story with each line and letter. The color brings the shapes to life, and my experience spills out onto the page. The painting brings up other memories of children playing, biking this trail, and dinners held on festival days. And then, the many solo runs that started not far from here, always running past as I really gained momentum for the miles ahead. My parents lived here for 35 years, and Mom and I visit yearly to reconnect with her friends. It's a special place indeed. Painting number 4614 in 4614 days.
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