This week I am daydreaming of walking along a familiar dirt road in the late afternoon on a warm summer's day. The tops of the trees are brushed with gold and the crickets are serenading one another in the blue-green shadows of the long grass. In my mind, I imagine myself there, and J is there, too. He's sitting in our jeep with the windows rolled down, with the radio turned on, watching me photograph the incredible bouquet of wildflowers in the field.
On this sunny February day, when there isn't a green shoot of anything poking out from the ground, I have brought out my encaustic paints and will soon start a painting of wildflowers. I've been wanting to do this since last summer.
