“Tossing his mane of snows in wildest eddies and tangles,
Lion-like March cometh in, hoarse, with tempestuous breath,
Through all the moaning chimneys, and ’thwart all the hollows and angles
Round the shuddering house, treating of winter and death.
But in my heart I feel the life of the wood and the meadow
Thrilling the pulses that own kindred with fibers that lift
Bud and blade to the sunward, within the inscrutable shadow,
Deep in the oak’s chill core, under the gathering drift.
Nay, to earth’s life in mine some prescience, or dream, or desire
(How shall I name it aright?) comes for a moment and goes—
Rapture of life ineffable, perfect—as if in the brier,
Leafless there by my door, trembled a sense of the rose."
William Dean Howell, Earliest Spring
A sense of spring in the countryside…buried beneath the wild grasses are glimpses of white..the rapture of life
Semi-abstract work in Watercolour on Arches Not Paper..best viewed large..