Drew Douglass - CreatingDrew 🪷

Countless tiny lights in an indigo watercolor sky, one a little warmer near the center, among the rest.

One in 8.3 Billion

Today is World Mental Health Day. It's something that's very near and dear to me, and I'm sure near and dear to so many people here. I'm sure we've all seen the posts today with the common quotes: you'

Poetry

Purple

Am I a good man? Does such a list exist? How does self grade self? Please teach me. Please, grandfather, please show me. Please feel, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I never asked you. My heart shares your shrapnel, grandpa. Purple. Reflecting yours, in its own

Poetry

Surrender

🌙 🪔 🪷

Light feather quill landing gently with a velvet sky.

Introducing: Soft Landing for Hard Days

Earlier this year, over 30 wonderful humans I know were hit with a RiF. I was one of them. This post is not about that or any company. I know the specific quiet that comes after. The inbox that goes still. The way a Tuesday stops making sense. The strange,

Poetry

Eucalyptus

I park at the curb near her driveway. A brown anole boasting, getting its reps in on a white bucket. She's kneeling down, wood not yet placed across the frames. A canvas covered with spray paint. She offers a chair first, and does the same. The wood holding

Poetry

Untitled.

Crushed under the weight of empty boxes. Tears. Borrowed from the ocean. Birthed by the moon. A sign hangs over the presents. Happy in orange, birthday in blue, Drew in green. 　　　　[I see nothing happy.] 　　　　[Can I bring myself to open them?] "Maybe after dinner." 　　　　[Will I even

A watercolor night garden glows with a palm tree, surrounded by green foliage and red flowers. In the misty water beyond, a rowboat, indistinct figures move toward the palm.

Poetry

Land Well for the Boat

I will climb to higher ground, so we all will land sound. Them first, then me. Months of duty, I obliged. I will grip the palm until all of us reach the higher ground. Not one of them flails against the screaming waves; shelter we'll provide. I find

Poetry

Clay

Her paw print, laid in clay. A concave piercing, always asking... Never answering.

A lone wildflower stands in foreground shadow, turned toward a softly glowing house in the hazy dusk distance. Warm watercolor light, blurred trees, tender sense of longing.

Poetry

An Unwanted Man

An overlooked weed. An inconvenient wildflower. A bad man. An unwanted man. The car arrives. So does the heartbeat. So does the doubt. Old friends, most of them. Faces familiar as the sunflower. Some aged, some not. Ten seconds to the garage. It takes a year. Hugs. Small talk. The

A solitary figure walks through a quiet dusk parking lot toward a parked car, beneath pale service lights and a vast muted sky with soft rose-gray clouds.

May I Give You This Gift?

I stopped at that same store again. Same counter, same (strangely comforting) dim fluorescent everything. The man who passed my little handwritten card to its intended receiver the other day was working. We're close acquaintances, in the small way you get close to someone whose register you keep

Watercolor of two simple thresholds in a dim neutral interior: one filled with warm light, one shadowed and empty, with a soft golden wash reaching across the floor toward the shadowed one.

An Unexpected Brother

There is a man who works at a location I drive past most days. I often stop in for some essentials. He has a name on his work badge but I am not going to write it here. I have not had the opportunity to ask for his approval, nor

A plant nursery at golden hour: stacked terracotta pots, palm trunks, a wooden bench, string lights overhead

Nothing more urgent.

Tonight I sat down at a neighbor's (beautiful) nursery that I always drive by but rarely stop. Out of respect for them and their privacy, I'll exclude their name. Their setup is the kind of thing some folks would call "super messy". And that&