Sunday, February 27, 2011

Images of  February,  2011

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Wistfulness, old women and crows.

Still feeling a little bereft at times over the passing of our sweet pug. I have been looking off wistfully while working on some new drawings.

Through the window I watch the trees turn from brown, to brown and white again and dream of the old and new places I will discover while tromping through the woods this spring.
Sometimes this kind of imagining influences my art and I never know what sort of places this will take me.
 This week the kindest, funniest old woods woman paid me a visit. These women come to visit quite often and I interpret this as a reminder that long ago we were all women and men of the woods and that many of us feel a strong bond with the natural world and long to reconnect with nature.

This woman came to me with humor and warmth all bundled up inside her coat that she shares with birds and other creatures of the woods.

Nuts and seeds fell from holes in her pockets as she made her way down the brushy path.

Laughing and clucking as she fed the birds I could feel myself become her as I traced the lines of her sparkling eyes.

And with the melting snow come the crows,
looking for tasty things under the snow.

So clever they are . I love to watch them and are often rewarded with fresh scenes that they leave me for drawing. 

Emma watching crows.

Friday, February 18, 2011

Enchanted by the full moon.

Last night I sat with the moon as my companion.
So beautiful and luminescent she was.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

As I'm thinking of the last few days, I ask myself some questions,

Is pain always a catalyst for change? I reflect on this and wonder.

What a golden opportunity to leap into the boundless 
arms of love!

love of life, love of death

If only for a brief while, let me bask in the certainty
and alight on the branch with the sparrow.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

The crows put on quite a show for us yesterday.

Gathering in the tree branches, watching, waiting.
Sleek black feathers against white snow.

Monday, February 14, 2011

The passing of a sweet spirit.

1995 - 2011

We laid to rest our sweet pug, Dolly over the weekend.
She came to stay with us 9 years ago at the age of 6 or 7.
She was a retired breeder for a puppy mill in Missouri, no longer of prime breeding age she was sold at an  auction along with other dogs that "no longer earn their keep" and through the kind efforts of the dog rescue groups in Missouri and Illinois, she was then
spayed, given vet. care, quality food and loved by a foster family until she was put up for adoption and became our girl.
We never tired of watching her blossom into the beautiful little pug she was meant to be.

 Silent, (we never heard her bark) stoic and intuitive she had many special qualities that we never tired of noticing and marveling at. 
We always felt she gave us more than we gave her.
We eventually went on to adopt two more pugs, and recently a lanky hound mix.

While we will miss your sweet face dear one, our hearts are filled with gladness that we were the ones that you shared your life with.
Rest in peace sweet girl.

Please consider adoption.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

An apt description of the weather around the Rock River Valleycold has stopped the clock ...Thoreau's Journal: 7-Feb-1855

The coldest night for a long, long time was last. Sheets froze stiff about the faces. Cat mewed to have the door opened, but was at first disinclined to go out. When she came in at nine she smelt of meadow-hay. We all took her up and smelled of her, it was so fragrant. Had cuddled in some barn. People dreaded to go to bed. The ground cracked in the night as if a powder-mill had blown up, and the timbers of the house also. My pail of water was frozen in the morning so that I could not break it. Must leave many buttons unbuttoned, owing to numb fingers. Iron was like fire in the hands. Thermometer at about 7:30 A.M. gone into the bulb, -19 degrees at least. The cold has stopped the clock. Every bearded man in the street is a graybeard. Bread, meat, milk, cheese, etc., etc., all frozen. See the inside of your cellar door all covered and sparkling with frost like Golconda. Pity the poor who have not a large wood-pile. The latches are white with frost, and every nail-head in entries, etc., has a white cap. The chopper hesitates to go to the woods. Yet I see S.W.—stumping past, three quarters of a mile for his morning dram.
You can read more here.

Tuesday, February 08, 2011

 Fledglings, Eagles and How things are.

The Fledgling

A little sketch this morning and noticing some similarities. 
The young bird has such an innate desire to move on but still needs time to grow,
immature and not yet confident in ones abilities,
 still learning and taking in the environment, awkward and evolving.
I have felt  like this many times in this life of mine and will
feel this way many times more. 
This is just how things are.

The Eagle

I have been distracted and delighted lately.
It is a rare treat indeed to have so many Bald Eagles on the Rock River.

Taking every opportunity to see these magnificent birds has been occupying my 
thoughts, interrupting plans, and interfering with appointments.

Eagles making an appearance on the Mississippi in winter are more common.
One or two sightings, something special, But here? On the Rock River?
A mere 15 min. drive and there is open water. A good place to fish if you're an Eagle.
I have counted eight sometimes ten just within my direct view. They are steadfast in the business at hand. Who could blame them. Protein is a priority when the actual temp. is -4 degrees.

 Regal, self confidant, patient, and glorious.

Sunday, February 06, 2011

My sweet friend Emma and I share a moment.

Bald Eagles on the Rock River