On Summer Nature Drawing or the Lack Thereof
|the horsemint blooms in spring|
But, wild flowers still bloom, though they are often ragged and drained of ostentation. Texas flowers are a hearty lot, leaching moisture where they may, seeking shelter in shallow shadows. The Texas sun, acid strong, intrudes even upon the darkest of places. Insects fold their wings and retract to any damp refuge free from afternoon's blinding blaze.
Like the small creatures, I buzz down my favorite morning trails that I share with darting lizards and rabbits. Birds chatter and butterflies dally over the intrepid blooms that are still open for business.
But I do not draw these things.
Perhaps summer lulls me with its languid arms. I commune rather than study and record. I absorb and dissolve. My sketchbook remains in my backpack, nestled quietly with my pencils and pens. Like me, they hide in shadows, building kinetic energy among the cool rocks, the late summer's thirsty creeks, for a bursting in fall. I can feel it in the air: fall's brave splash of red and orange coming, and I will meet it with renewed strength, pen and paper and color.
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