Abandoned, forgotten… the grass around the gardener’s boots, hardly covered by the snow that whirls around, filling it’s open tops…when will you be coming back?
“_*It is December in the garden,
an early winter here, with snow
already hiding my worst offenses…
the places I disturbed your moss
with my heavy boots;
The corner where I planted in too deep a hole,
the now stricken hawthorne:
Crystals hanging from its icy branches
are the only flowers it will know*_.
When did solitude become
mere loneliness, and the sounds
of birds at the feeder seem
not like a calibrated music
but the discordant dialects
of strangers simply flying through?
I have tried to construct a life
alone here — coffee at dawn; a jog
through the chilling air..
Counting my heartbeats,
as if the doctor were my only muse;
books and bread and firewood..
Those usual stepping-stones from month
to freezing month.
But the constricted light,
the year closing down on itself with all
the vacancies of January ahead, leave me
unreconciled even to beauty.
When will you be coming back?"
Linda Pastan…The Letter
Watercolour on Arches CP Paper…..
From the Images of Winter Series…
Samples of other works in the collection are shown below….
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