6.8.2013… half cloud cover, moderate wind, slight rain

At 6 exactly my room lit up with the brilliant sideways light that only comes from under a hood of dark clouds. The sun slipped through an open sliver at the horizon, everything above polished purple blue. The light is clear, like water and diamonds, like crackling cellophane wadded and shimmering. I compulsively grabbed my camera and clicked photos all the way around the schoolhouse. Thankfully no one was out to see me in my pajamas and wild hair.

6.7.2013… quarter cloud cover, no wind or rain

I herded Brian out into the yard last night to see the stars before he leaves Two Dot. The sky was deeply clear and endless, the stars more than plentiful. It is a sight that always shocks me into a different perspective; something like defibrillator paddles to the chest.

6.6.2013...

“…no ideas but in things…” William Carlos Williams said this long ago of his interest in deep observation and ties to locality. I am in his debt without having known his work until now.

6.5.2013... no cloud cover, no wind, no rain

I can barely write for the sun in my eyes. My mood has escalated in the few short minutes of the sun's rising. All I can hear are the birds and my own blood pulsing. It is still early, but warm enough to sit outside, a blanket around my shoulders and just a little chill on my bare feet. I sit still and the birds are taking no notice of me: warblers flitting from chokecherry to gooseberry, robins diving from the cottonwood to the wet grass looking for worms, magpies scolding from a distance. Small black birds cruise by as if this were a highway and more robins fly from across the road straight for the cottonwood, adeptly finding a perch. I am just another creature in the yard.

6.4.2013... nearly full cloud cover, no wind or rain

No dramatic sunrise to wake me by penetrating my eyelids. The sky remains overcast, but it is not dense or heavy... more like a Dutch landscape painting with many variations of gray. This connection to others who have watched and put to paper what happens on either side of the horizon line is an inspiration in itself.

6.3.2013... half clouds, slight wind, no rain

John is in Seattle and Brian Kennedy is in the second studio. As happens with visitors and guest artists, I stay up later and drink more. It’s not all bad. The conversation is fabulous. There is camaraderie and inspiration. Not bad at all. But I miss waking up early. Yesterday and today the sun rose behind clouds and didn’t act as an alarm clock.

6.2.2013... total cloud cover, heavy rain

I drove John to the airport in Bozeman. I will miss him. We’d started to find our Two Dot rhythm. It takes a few days, but when found is sweet. I drove back over Bridger Pass with windshield wipers constantly scraping rain from the glass and revealing glittering color saturated vegetation. Deep deep green pines, spring green grass and yellow flowers. The peaks were slate blue with some remaining white white snow. It is such a quick climb from the city to the mountain and I was completely over the pass in 30 minutes. As you drop down, the vegetation changes to pastoral. Pines give way to poplars and willow thickets… some aspen, and that gives up to rolling grasses. My wipers kept working at the rain; each swipe revealing another clearly focused picture-ready composition. I know others have their eyes to the rain with different markers in mind, but for me in this moment of transition to my independent time in the schoolhouse, the rain brings a measure of beauty that sooths and sustains.