Today was the first day of the week log Beloit plein air event that had sunshine. After a week of heavy rainfall, flooding and wind damage in the area, the sun was out. The wind was still fierce, but as I drove to the park I chanted to myself: You LOVE painting outside. The wind is NO problem. You LIKE talking to interested people. You can DO this. I did, too. Sure there were folks who looked much more painterly with their French easels, big canvases and sun umbrellas, but I got it done today. Even if I was sitting with my legs splayed in the grass with my watercolor paper stapled to a ratty board propped up with a roll of Bounty paper towels.
I like this poem by William Carlos Williams, and I decided to post it even though summer is not over.
- It is a willow when summer is over,
- a willow by the river
- from which no leaf has fallen nor
- bitten by the sun
- turned orange or crimson.
- The leaves cling and grow paler,
- swing and grow paler
- over the swirling waters of the river
- as if loath to let go,
- they are so cool, so drunk with
- the swirl of the wind and of the river--
- oblivious to winter,
- the last to let go and fall
- into the water and on the ground.