This morning the lawn was brilliant with yellow leaves and a windy light. By late afternoon the sky had darkened, and snow is predicted tomorrow. I looked at the fallen lillies and melting hostas, all the garden’s brave last gasps of color, and laid my head upon the memory of summer. Where is that attic bedroom, that one with chenille bedspread and the embroidered pillow? The one where afternoon light motes were gold as pollen and the bees gathered in the windowsills….?
The Lake, Late Autumn
Street Koan
Work in progress.What is the street? Who is looking?
November Meditation: The Blue Heron
Something about this time of year makes me feel like talking to Morris Graves. I feel like he is with me, brooding on leaves and picking up branches, and looking for the light in the fine grays and browns of the northwest melancholy. The heron has not been been to visit the pond in a long time. Perhaps this will call him back.
Street Language
A new print with my tireless companion, the Walking Man
- « Previous Page
- 1
- …
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- …
- 55
- Next Page »