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Monday, April 9, 2018

No Patience

I bought a giant set of colored pencils because I admired someone's work with them.  Now I find I just don't have the patience anymore.  So I took out the watercolors and painted this.  No drawing first.  Just paints splashed on and gouache when whites disappeared in my enthusiasm.  Maybe tomorrow I'll have more patience.

Friday, April 6, 2018

Great Harvest



Great Harvest has started selling their spring breads which necessitated a trip there on a cold morning after a 9 inch drop of white fluff.  While waiting for Bruce to come out with the cranberry orange bread, Teddy and I watched the sputzies line up eager for fresh crumbs.  They got closer and closer, allowing me to take some close-ups leading to trying to capture them in pigments.  My first attempt with colored pencils fell short, but then I took out the Derwent Inktense pencils and they seemed a bit more cooperative.  You layer on the color and then wet it with water and it becomes "Inktense."

Friday, March 9, 2018

March Morning



The light
creeps in
slowly
this year
tiptoeing
past
soft
pillows
of
white

A Peaceful Morning

"Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous to be understood."

                                                                                      -Mary Oliver

Saturday, March 3, 2018

The Tall White Lily



All night
I float
in the shallow ponds
while the moon wanders

burning,
bone white,
among the milky stems.
Once

I saw her hand reach
to touch the muskrat's
small sleek head
and it was lovely, oh,

I don't want to argue anymore
about all the things
I thought I could not
live without!  Soon

the muskrat
will glide with another
into their castle
of weeds, morning

will rise from the east
tangled and brazen,
and before that
difficult

and beautiful
hurricane of light
I want to flow out
across the mother

of all waters,
I want to lose myself
on the black
and silky currents,

yawning,
gathering
the tall lilies
of sleep.




White Night by Mary Oliver

Thursday, March 1, 2018

The Chat


I wish
I were
the yellow chat
down in the thickets

who sings all night,
throwing
into the air
praises

and panhandles,
plaints,
in curly phrases,
half-rhymes,

free verse too,
with head-dipping
and wing-wringing,
with soft breast

rising in to the air--
meek and sleek,
broadcasting,
with no time out

for pillow-rest,
everything--
pathos,
thanks--

oh, Lord,
what a lesson
you send me
as I stand

listening
to your rattling, swamp-loving chat
singing
of his simple, leafy life--

how I would like to sing to you
all night
in the dark
just like that.

by Mary Oliver



Ducks have returned to Lake Harriet