|
02/10/2023 02:28PM |
"where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.
Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.
I am haunted by waters."
Those words or parts of those words at the end of that story frequently ring in my head.
|
02/09/2023 08:26PM |
11 x14 oil on canvas
|
02/18/2023 11:26AM |