Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Dear Douglas Fir

Last night, as I shuffled into bed, it began really raining, so I put plans to paint this morning at Sauvie Island on the back burner. I checked the forecast on my phone. Rain. Boooo. My alarm first sounded at seven, and sure, the sky was gray behind the blinds, so, sleep took me again. But, then, at eight o'clock I lifted those blinds to find a proud blue-bird day! So, I got the coffee going. I fixed myself a bowl of oatmeal. I dumped all the acrylic paint tubes from my pochade box, and replaced them with oil. I primed a 4" x 6" panel and set out for a closer local in case the weatherman followed through.
Across the Street and up the hill, in our Rose Garden's Amphitheater I stood: standing in her primped northwestern grass/bog, I was a star, alone on the stage. Conifers of all kinds peered down at me. Jealous maybe. One in particular caught my attention. Dear Douglas Fir, what's your fancy? What moves you? The rain? Birds answered: He's awfully honored to pose for you kind sir! -chirps all around. And so, I painted, he stood still, and the rain held off for a time. The sun making the grass glow. I worked until pools of water formed in my oils.
Now, I'm home and it's still raining hard out there.

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