
Drops of colour like drops of blood,
reminder of passion and death,
a heady concoction full of desperate joy.
Drops of colour like drops of blood,
reminder of passion and death,
a heady concoction full of desperate joy.
Micro-world – so different,
where minute forces create different structures,
where water is spherical and flower petals rough and ribbed…
so strange and yet so oddly familiar, almost by touch.
I find bare winter trees endlessly fascinating.
The branches lead my gaze with hypnotic power, and it follows on and on…
I think it is a visual equivalent of learning and gives the same joy of
discovery:
ordered enough for the mind to create patterns,
with enough chaotic variation to keep it interesting,
to forever suggest the possibility of better, more intricate organization…
Cherry blossoms – a staple of poetry,
they appear so briefly in such profusion…
What is the fascination?
Is it our slightly guilty,
maintenance-free
enjoyment
of the beauty of evanescence?