Is this a paint brush I see before me?

It has been so long since I picked up a brush and put my heart and soul into a painting. That doesn't mean I haven't been thinking about it. Far from it: I still wake up most mornings reaching for one of my many notebooks. I have a collection of stuffed folios and pads that goes back 20+ years. I am sure most of my good stuff is in there just waiting for my psychologist daughter to go rooting around when I have returned, in kind, to that great big metaphysical canvas know as the Universe. We are here for so little time that we find ourselves distracted from the thing we love by the need to earn a living. Star Trek has it right: you can't explore the infinite when you are stuck in the here and now of everyday existence. Time, then, to pick up my brush again and go boldly where I have been before and long to be again. A blank canvas; a brush (or 40); a shelf full of acrylic paint and only the vaguest of ideas where the first line will take me. To all those who dare to call themselves "Artist" I offer my thanks for making the Universe a better place.