I struggle to finish a warm-up sketch, twisting a charcoal nib in sloping waves, blending with the pad of my thumb. It’s rough. Normally crisp lines...are sloppy.“Stand clear, doors opening.”Muted sighs of relief filter around as bodies struggle up and out into the blistering afternoon sun.I’ve drawn her again. Well, not her exactly I guess. It’s more symbol attached to an early memory. A hummingbird, wings blurred, hovering over snapdragons.Under the oppressive heat of the sun, I struggle to. She felt the stopping, starting, and turning of city traffic… then thesimple sway of the open road as Vicki's tandem freight liner began the overnighttrip to Denver. Vicki mused in the silence. How had she come to sit in the place, just now?Mike, Vicki's husband had started this about five years ago. Vicki had beena working Mother and part time housewife. It was a comfortable, traditional,usual life style. Mike had suggested that she respond to the advances of aco-worker. At first Vicki. More

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