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Wintering Trees In Oil
I stood in silence before a dark picture
and felt the hopelessness of the forest
laden with snow upon leafless branches.
It was very dense, and very cold. I'm
unable to see the forest for the trees.
There is no path in these intertwining
branches. How stark it is to look at, down
my long naked hall ending in this painting.
Every morning I am reminded: depression
is a genetic relationship families
can have. I stood in silence before this
dark picture, so real, I trace the thick
painted brush strokes like touching bark.
What has always given me comfort is the
pale blue of the sky reflected on the snow.
Coming to this grove, I merely need to look up.
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