I too feel an urgency to try to capture everything about the first few weeks before the lightning fast changes occur. I can't seem to get enough. I find I look at everything differently, even the humble little honeysuckle shoots under the pergola, their translucent "skins" drinking in the sunlight.
It's like I woke up and realized the world had turned to living color. I suppose only another artist would understand this. I am not gifted enough to write cohesively about what it feels like. But Dorothy would understand. She felt it when she landed in Munchkinland.
Herons are everywhere, tiptoeing through the marsh now that the frogs are abundant. Their heads and necks remind me of an arrow; pointing then released to strike.
Yesterday, after my morning walk at the pond, I just couldn't bear to return home and head into the studio to work. So I ambled off to Jockey's Ridge, the largest, living, sand dune on the East Coast. The new grasses closest to me were shining with greens, catching the early spring light. And a glorious cloud bank was building behind the dune to the west. I hoped I'd be lucky enough to catch those clouds in a painting when I returned home. But alas, as clouds are fleeting it didn't happen.
I did a couple of sketches and at last, finally felt full, ready to return home.