Sun lays its mat on the water.
Stones shine, watersong brightens.
Four trees stripe the brook with shadow—
from west to east, winter to spring,
from nothing to something.
Living in a shut-down state means most of the places I usually visit are closed. But nature is still open for business, flaunting daffodils and ridges of forsythia, and the tiniest of red rust buds on the giant oaks and elms.
I walk the neighborhood almost daily, and it’s been my time to NOT think about the state of things, and focus on whatever nature is offering up that day. This is a pic I took when I stopped to listen to a local brook.
Initially I found it nearly impossible to make art with a head full of survival plans, grocery lists, and contingencies. But two days after taking the pic, I wrote a poem. I thought I was writing about the shadows that fell so neatly across the brook, but really, I was creating a bridge for myself, a bridge to cross over from artistic blackout back to creativity.
I hope you are well.