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| "Spring Comes to Kawani," 2015, oil on board, 12"h x 12"w. Private collection. |
The seasons come and go so, and more quickly so as I get older. Both in the outer landscape and the inner inscape. Spring this year seemed like a long time coming, but then suddenly one morning took up a rapacious gate. So differently experienced from fall, which comes on with flames, a last bright declaration, like an unrepentant warrior's last stand against all the destruction facing the world. Spring, on the other hand, begins hidden deep in the ground, stirring for long silent weeks something alchemical.
Beginning in March with those few unexpected errant warm days, I step out each morning onto my porch to gaze eastward looking for spring across the field past the studio to where a patch of woods slips out into the field and follows the path of a spring that runs underground there (I know this because I am blessed with the archaic gift of the dowser). Pine and poplar stand sentinel here, creating an understory where wild cherry and dogwood shelter beneath them. In this early morning spring light, with much still cloaked in darkness, with much that is stilled this time of day, I can see that this is the advance column of the once great and future forest that has always claimed rightful sovereignty to these mountains. Me, I'm just passing through.
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