There are soft days. Days when work flows, flowers bloom, and the sky feels close. Days when dreams flit like butterflies across the surface of my mind. As a child, I lived in a canyon next to a brisk creek. The air smelled of pine and grasses and the deep, warm scent of damp earth.
We had no telephone or TV. Only books and the wilderness. I used to wander up the rutted, dirt road to a meadow not far from my house, but secluded. The buzzing of insects, the sound of wind in the trees, the great, vast, shimmering of myriad greens.
Sometimes I carried my Mrs. Peabody doll and played make believe. Later, as an adolescent, I came alone to sit and listen and look. Drink it in. Just be.
There is a rhythm to the world and all its beings. A rocking or swaying. A dance even. The hawk soaring high in a deep blue sky. A butterfly on a blade of wild wheat. A chipmunk skittering up a tree.
At such a time, when quiet is deep and loud in my heart, when the sun warms my skin and life, abundant, welcomes me, there is no separation between heaven and earth. There is just the all of it, merging together and bringing deep peace.
Most of my artworks have some element inspired by nature. This one is all nature and a little bit of God.
