Painting with donkeys... Inspirers of creative energy that they are, donkeys are a nice addition to an al fresco painting occasion.

Earlier this week Jericha decided her housebound parent required socializing and intellectual stimulating. So off we went to the art supply place where her mother did indeed prove that mental stimulation was urgently needed. While crossing the parking lot I nearly drove over her with my 300-pound electric wheelchair. She bore me no ill will, however, despite the initial fierce scowl. And again I thanked the Lord that if I could have just one child, that one turned out to be Jericha. Slow down, you crazy woman in the Permobil, especially when looking over your shoulder to make sure the truck is still there.

We gathered up tubes of acrylics, handfuls of good brushes, a cleaning tub, large and small pads of heavy water color paper, sponges. For my part, I cannot see the attraction of the mountains of ready-made decorations available in craft stores. Going out that door with bags full of raw materials is one of the headiest experiences I can think of.

Following a pleasantly spicy lunch in an Albuquerque Indian restaurant and a stop at a Middle Eastern grocery, we were home, ready to hit the back patio, Glorious, warm fall day it was, with the big cottonwood west across the ditch bank glowing like a torch in the late day sun. Dry brownish green mulberry leaves rattled down around the the picnic table where paint, paper and brushes were set up. Otherwise the silence was great, as it so often is here in New Mexico’s boonies. We share some of the feelings of the unspeaking monks we saw last winter in the French film, Into Great Silence. What bludgeons words can be.

Jericha said: “What are YOU going to paint?” “I don’t know!” was the honest answer. I used to paint. She hadn’t done as much with it as she has with her other art pursuits, so suddenly the notion struck me that it would be much more pleasant, for me, to sit unobtrusively watching her creativity at work.

So I opened the gate. Out trooped Gigi, Jasper and Ambrose in that order. Within seconds the silence retreated. as crumbly crunchy sounds of donkey choppers encountering dry leaves replaced it. Once in a while a bird chirp added an accent note, sadly low and pale compared to their fulsome springtime hollering. Gentle clip clopping of hooves indicated that one donkey pursued leaves individually on the concrete patio, while louder crackly sounds arose around the two scuffling through leaves heaped along fences. Shortly all three long-eared creatures paced their way to where Jericha sat at the table. Her long brown hair in braids, well daubed jeans from house painting projects and a plaid flannel shirt forestalled concern over where flying paint might land.

Three pairs of erect, fuzzy ears in pink and tan, black and white, black and tan, perked up all around Jericha. Beneath three bushy brows, bright brown eyes twinkled as the animals pressed a little closer to observe the painting. For a few moments I thought gratefully of all the leaves on the ground -- in their absence the wooden handles of the brushes might have overly tempted the four-legged termites.

A wash of soft, clear yellow all over they paper, blips of the sponge. Daubs of soft green, warm brown, increasingly energetic mixing of colours on the palette, and clearly a tree was growing from the yellow mists. Eventually I withdrew so as not to mingle my curiosity with what was now a clear vision. I could not bring myself to photograph this experience, however, being content to depict it in words.

As the sun was setting, Jericha happily displayed her work: An enormous cottonwood type tree, twisted trunk surging up from the edge of her page, crown filling the textured yellow sky. “It’s not quite done yet,” she said. The painting has such energy in it that I dubbed it the “tree of life.”

The donkeys, however, felt a bit deprived of an opportunity to seize a paper after-leaf-snack-bite, and trooped reluctantly back into their fenced area for their regular bowls of hay.