Abstract No. 2, 10x10
Here in southern Maine, it's as if the colors of autumn are a part of me, the light shining through them is shining through me, the reds and oranges and yellows singing to me of sun and wind, the mass of summer days stretching into autumn, the blaze a final shout of joy before the quick darkness of winter surrounds us.
There is that, then, that somehow these scenes become the fleeting moments we all try to capture, to hold, like water through our fingers, a breeze through our hair, the memory of a day, or a person or a look that touches you deeply and then is gone forever. No autumn day will ever be what this one was, or offer the promises this one offers. Even on the drive back, the colors will have shifted, the leaves changed, the same trees miles different from where they were in the morning light.
Yes, in these abstracts, I let the paint run off with me, and I knew I was doing it when I did. I'm interested to know what you think, whether you like them or hate them, or simply can't tell what they are.
Scenes from the Road
Above, a beautiful farm outside of Arundel
Above and below, two scenes from southern Maine, around Waterboro, above, and Lyman, below. I especially love the white trunks of the birches in the photo above.
Dog of the Day
Our sweet old girl, Samantha, died on Thursday, in her sleep. She was 18, and was feral when we got her from the pound in Charlestown, RI. She never became completely domesticated, though she would let us pet her - briefly - every day.
Samantha only went out twice. The first time, her encounter with a neighborhood tom resulted in Puffy, Snuffy, Tuffy and Scruffy. The second time was to the vet's office for spaying.
Samantha spent most of her life with Peter, usually on the corner of her desk. When she wasn't there, she was in the basement. We worried, when we moved to Wachapreague, to a house without a basement, that Sam would be unhappy - but it was just the opposite.The first evening we were in the house, she strode into the living room and announced herself, and made our house her home.
She was a good cat, and Peter and I will miss her always.
A Final Thought
"Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower."
- Albert Camus