poemimage

Over the last four days I put long hours into my (mostly done in blues) Druidica painting on the 33′ X 5′ roll of Fabriano mixed-media paper.

Too much dark coffee and not enough water. I unrolled and rolled the paper like a scroll on the floor – mostly in silence.

A fellow down the street wheels his wheelchair into an alcove to stay out of the wind. Today he was playing music from a French composer. It sounded like a film score from the sort of movie that no longer exists.

I found the following drawing & short poem as a draft and moved a few words around.

I follow the star

to a newborn

oak tree.

Sunlight arrives

beaming through

deep space

perfuming the grove.