Home after a long week. Enough light left so I can get a few garden chores done.
But instead I wander off into the woods. This time of the year the days are long and the evening light is lovely. The sun hangs low in the sky, a sphere of red-orange. Leaves are starting to fill the canopy, but the sunlight filters through. Shafts of brilliant gold illuminate emerald buds. Magical light dazzles, like jewelry suspended in air. I want to capture the moment, to paint it or photograph it. But I know it would be in vain. No medium is sufficiently radiant. Not to mention the chill of evening air on my face, scented with honeysuckle. Or the haunting melody of the hermit thrush, fluting like a distant lonely Pan.
I remember the Navajo blessing, "may you walk in beauty".
The experience of beauty is a gift given to the artist. To pass this gift on to others is his duty. But sometimes failure is part of the process. So I am content to hold this fleeting gift, with the hope that someday it will emerge in a future work.