Bird’s Breath

While out with the dog this morning, a crow was atop a low juniper tree calling. It was quite cold out and a tiny cloud of breath formed with each caw. And it suddenly dawned on me, I had never seen a bird’s breath before. I had seen a horse’s breath on cold mornings. And a cow’s as I threw down hay from a cold loft in a cold barn. And even the occasional dog’s breath. But never a bird’s breath.

At a certain age, you tend to think you have seen most everything. And then on a cold morning, something as simple and as complex as condensation of a bird’s breath can change your whole perspective. How much goes on around us everyday unnoticed? And things we consider ordinary are anything but. It all borders on miraculous. Even ourselves. Each moment this universe unfolds amazingly whether we notice it or not. But how rich life becomes when we do.

I walked back to the house as the Snow Moon of February was about to set. And the newly risen sun was pressing on the mountains eager to begin another day. And there beside the studio wall, a sign of the seasons passing gracefully. Daffodils, like tiny green bird beaks pushing through the earth, while last week’s snow sits quietly in the shadows.

Green

With the vision of the sprouted daffodils still fresh, I brought out some Cobalt Blue and Hansa Yellow on my palette and mixed a glorious green. I am fascinated by green lately. (Do your color preferences sway?) I am not sure what is causing this new interest. Perhaps the array of seed packets on my desk and the penciled plans for this year’s garden come into play. Or maybe knowing I will start seeds soon and the studio will become a pseudo nursery, with seedlings taking over space and time. Whatever the reason, it feels wildly new and exciting. So, I think I will explore this verdant urge and paint some green today.