The redbuds and dogwoods are competing, each flickering tapestry of buds climbing higher into the forest branches desperate to be noticed. The daffodils burn like small yellow fires in the rich green edges of highways.
Even while the sky twists and rolls over itself, spring wrestles with winter. The blinding light of the late afternoon sun shows me spring will inevitably win.
There are buds all along the tree line, in pale pink and gold, green and yellow-you can’t see any leaves, they are just barely ghostly shadows of what’s to come.
I’m excited, I can smell the flower breath of the breezes, the thin hush of winter rolling like tumbleweed over the exposed fields. Winter has barely ended and spring insists, it grabs it palette, reaches for its brushes.
While my studio sits cold in the late winter thaw, all the paintings from previous series are like snippets of distant photos I can barely discern. With the coming of spring, I am excited about a new canvas, about a new swatch of color that streams through the landscape daring me to explain, how spring renews all hope and how my colors and passion is just a season away.
I love the spring…