Wildflowers #4 | Paris Field
I’m imagining — hoping there is a field near Paris or on a rooftop that resembles this painting. This is all watercolor and was painted with a eyelash brush (never worked for me but works for flicking paint to make stalks) and Q-Tips. Fun experiment. Lots of that going on this month.
Oh, and by the way, my friend Lené Gary in Vermont (another snowy place) found this prose poem she wrote for others in snow right now—wildflower buds buried below. Thanks Lené!
Ear to Ground
“To hear the waltz of a bluet, the trill of a lily, the piping rupture of a wake robin in its potential maroon, requires the ear of a flowering heart to catch life limber (underground) months before the first of June. Today is a day I heard them. Goldthreads with their fairied flutes, clintonia with their drums, blue-eyed grass, I knew them well, by their high-pitched hum. Mud nearly rumbled. You’d think it was the frogs. The world is dancing beneath this frosty hue. To bloom, just listen (put your ear right here).” ~ Lené Gary
She’s quite the talent!
I love the spring flowers and the wonderful poem by your friend. I hear the flowers getting ready to spring slowly out from under the snow–while waiting I watch and listen to the chickadees chirp outside my window. Soon they will return to the forest and the robins will arrive and the “peepers” will begin their morning and evening songs.
Oh I love your additional poetry to the post… thank you so much Wavey!
Lené’s words were a wonderful add to this piece. She caught it right. (I also loved Dave’s comment.) I walk into a wintry field, hard after the weekend rain, with the stubble now showing through the lingering crust of snow. Part of the beauty of that field is the wildflowers that will bloom all too soon, all too soon and then be gone again.