As I go about my morning errands or head out to a sketching location, nature always tags along, capturing my attention in a variety of ways, like a stand of trees humming with cicadas, a V of ducks quacking over the bay, or a black swallowtail butterfly skipping over my windshield, catching in the draft before tumbling itself right again to float off in search of whatever he is looking for. I take note of these offerings, writing about them in my sketchbook when I make a stop before I lose the freshness of the feelings they evoke. But I realize I need to pay more attention to the smaller signs of Mother Nature's determination.
But one morning this week, I noticed an exuberance from Mother Nature, a tenaciousness, persistence and steadfastness that renews my hope she will survive despite our best efforts to eradicate all traces of her. This week's sketches are not particularly beautiful nor dramatic. But I do feel they are significant, offering comfort, at least to me, that it's not too late to reach a harmonious balance. Even as I notice plants wedging their way between the cracks in my driveway, I have to marvel at their Olympian feats. Unidentifiable greenery pushes up through the planks of a nearby boardwalk. Emerald leaves decorate the threshold of a friend's garage. At the post office, a greenish, spidery length of flora has made its home dead center in the canary yellow, concrete parking bumper. And at a local establishment, what looks like alien lifeforms draw hieroglyphics across the ceiling. (This is a perfect example of living in the moment, not knowing when you will be swept away with a broom or yanked out by your roots!)
"I believe a blade of grass is no less than the journeywork of the stars." - Walt Whitman