Whatever concept an artist imagines Is a reflection of a latent form that lies within A block of marble; the hand alone, Guided by the intellect, can give it form. from Michelangelo’s Sonnet 15 The “reflection of a latent form” Michelangelo characterizes in his poem has inspired debate among artists, aesthetes, and philosophers for thousands of […]
Reflection of a Latent Form: The Source of Consciousness Read More »
Recycling a Well-Tended Garden She side-bends and stoops after decades of puttering limber-up work-in-dirt yoga, knee bends to growing graces. Her garden sprawls on its back, open palms to June sun, humming a hover and rest like the blue darner. Her fingers spread compost, sifting the strumming of vegetable patches into mantras – mantras learned
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There’s a sound that the early autumn wind makes through the cottonwoods across the way (all dash and whisper and sway) that is the sound of a faraway whistle caught on a thread of unraveling distance from an old coal train heading west; it is the sound of the last of the Canada geese hefting
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Yesterday, had I been a millionaire able to hire a gardener or two, I — I still would have knelt in the earth and brushed back the crunchy leaves, to see, touch, oh! green shoots of new garlic. Yes, pruned scratchy rose bushes sucked blood from my thorn-stabbed thumb; cut back the lower aspen branches, plucked
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Arches carved by nature’s knife Bluebells bursting into life Columbines the bloom of state Deer tracks cloven hooves create Elk herd standing tall with pride Fox pups posting side by side Ghost town eerie without sound Hay bales scattered on the ground Icicles sharp as frozen quills Jagged mountain hiking
The Life of Colorado Read More »
for Gwynne Stolle in loving memory In her garden, as in mine, the earth is let be earth, and flowers grow where flowers will, not where she wills them to. In her garden, as in mine, light falls through the green it’s made, softened, dappling everything below it, even me and the dogs. In her