We just reset the clocks. Spring forward. It's funny how we say that spring is coming, that it has a first day of issue, and yet, it doesn't just arrive through the mail slot, it creeps in, perhaps, until we notice it. And maybe that notice is when the calendar says so. Or maybe we notice it all along. I hadn't really thought about spring being a process, like art, but it is. Before I ponder that, though, it only just dawned on me that spring trees leaf out and/or blossom in order.
In northern California, first comes the magnolia in early February. I love her. (Watch for a quilt, maybe in a few weeks.) Here she is now, in early March.
Plum trees line the streets up the hill on my walk. This photo is from February, 2012, but still good.
And the plum on the creek, with its leaves on, is currently saying, "Been there, done that." The crows will be happy when the fruit arrives. They'll leave the pits on our roof.
Pink jasmine has been in bloom for a while over the back gate. Sweet, soothing smell.
The Japanese maple is reaching out for the Anna's hummingbird to come back and perch on her branches in front of the studio. (I keep a feeder for them there.)
The smoke bush in front is just leafing out. (aka Cotinus Coggygria)
Wake up, Hawthorn! Maybe he goes strictly by the date. In the northern hemisphere spring will be declared on March 19, 2020. Okay, street tree, you got ten more days.
I remember a friend telling me long ago that "art was about looking carefully," to which I would add: and responding to that looking via a physical form: with words, colors, bodies, voices, and/or materials. The trees respond to spring. We respond to both.
And how is spring a process like art? Art is a gradual process; it grows. It doesn't immediately spring from the idea-seed into something beautiful. The making of it takes time and work. And patience. (Oh! Now I get the saying, "Patience, even the grass will turn to milk." Moo.)
In northern California, first comes the magnolia in early February. I love her. (Watch for a quilt, maybe in a few weeks.) Here she is now, in early March.
Plum trees line the streets up the hill on my walk. This photo is from February, 2012, but still good.
And the plum on the creek, with its leaves on, is currently saying, "Been there, done that." The crows will be happy when the fruit arrives. They'll leave the pits on our roof.
Pink jasmine has been in bloom for a while over the back gate. Sweet, soothing smell.
The Japanese maple is reaching out for the Anna's hummingbird to come back and perch on her branches in front of the studio. (I keep a feeder for them there.)
The smoke bush in front is just leafing out. (aka Cotinus Coggygria)
Wake up, Hawthorn! Maybe he goes strictly by the date. In the northern hemisphere spring will be declared on March 19, 2020. Okay, street tree, you got ten more days.
The trees are a clock that tick the seconds, not just the seasons, if we remember to look in time.
I remember a friend telling me long ago that "art was about looking carefully," to which I would add: and responding to that looking via a physical form: with words, colors, bodies, voices, and/or materials. The trees respond to spring. We respond to both.
And how is spring a process like art? Art is a gradual process; it grows. It doesn't immediately spring from the idea-seed into something beautiful. The making of it takes time and work. And patience. (Oh! Now I get the saying, "Patience, even the grass will turn to milk." Moo.)
Happy Spring in Progress!
This post is dedicated to my friend, the late Judith Tannenbaum, who loved trees.
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