Why not? Too ephemeral. Too temporary. A fallen leaf, whether fallen from a tree or a cloud or a symphony, is already in the realm of the dead, decay and disappearance. But, what of memories? What reminder of miraculous moments, come and gone? What celebration of all that is?
On a misty morning, waiting for the silver sky to burn to blue, quick eyes seeking a wayward lizard, a dancing cricket hiding in the thicket, time suspended, breeze across the grasses, ripples caressing the river, she waits in the pale, gray shadows, not bothering to fly away.
Ink and lacquer on paper, 1998