Low Rising (part 5)

Note: This one was written with an old friend. He gets credit for his lovely responses.

Hello (she whispered across the open ocean)

Hi to you (he said from under the pines)

(and how are you?)

Fine (she replied amidst Eastend seagrass)

(and you?)

[He] In the woods: Southern heat and damp, grumbly evening rains and tree frogs singling like a New York traffic jam. Drawing at my leisure while looking to the forest for affirmation.

[She] Nice!  I hope the forest whispers back to your soul, reminding you of all that gets forgotten in the busy-ness of life.

Meanwhile, I float above waves of chartreuse seagrass, hair primped and teased by the pull of the bay tide.

Breaking color and other quiet things.

[He] Now that looks like immersive communication indeed (nice toes too).

I’m heading back up the coast tomorrow. Goodbye to the green fields and gracious light that has fed me for these few days. 

See you when I get home?

[She] Yes.

[He] I’m trying to make drawing like dream liquid.

[She] Hmmm. Drawing like dream liquid sounds both sensuous and sublime.  I can’t wait to see (when you are ready to show). And I would love to see some of your older work up close and in person. The computer does not serve the subtle well.

In the meantime, I’m relishing the quiet gesture between trees while drawing and the touch of burnt umber against matte black while painting, moving into silence as I focus on that which is not spoken but stated so clearly. It is good to be back in summer where days are long and languid…

[He] I like the sound of your vision between the trees. Are you on the island still?

Umber and black, earth and ash.

Talk again when home.

[She] Yes still where sea laps shore (until around the 22nd).