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Wall Walker

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My son walked into this landscape I was painting plein air.

I took a portrait workshop from Judith Carducci once, and she told us that if we could capture the shape of the shadow on the face we would find a likeness. Moving targets are tricky to capture, but I tried Judith’s method with the highlights on Micah…the top of his hat, his neck, down one arm, and his other elbow, the back of both legs…and there he was. Neat trick.

Micah likes to balance his way on top of things and through life. It is fun to watch.

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Changing Shape

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Turn, turn, my wheel! All things must change
To something new, to something strange;
Nothing that is can pause or stay;
The moon will wax, the moon will wane,
The mist and cloud will turn to rain,
The rain to mist and cloud again,
To-morrow be to-day.

The light was magnificent behind chimney rock, the sky a shocking blue. It only lasted a moment, so I caught it fast and loose in a little study. The clouds and light change quickly here, I am constantly trying to pause and notice before the moment slips away. A piece of the chimney fell off between the time I hiked the trail to the top last night and when I looked agin today. The changing made me think of HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW’s poem “Kéramos” written in 1878. The shape of Chimney Rock, and those 4 kids of mine…all things must change. Look quick before the moment slips away, indeed to-morrow be to-day.

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Desert Rain

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“A Desert Rain”

The cool rain poured in sudden haste
Upon the thirsty sod,
And life throughout an arid waste
Rejoices, thanking God.

Each wild and lonely desert flower
Is royally arrayed,
As if in one brief, stormy hour
The world were newly made.

Where vagrant breezes stray and waft
The mesquite’s sweet perfume,
The green saguaro’s fluted shaft
Lifts high a richer bloom.

The palo verde blossoms glow
Like jets of yellow fire,
And every bird we love and know
Pipes in the tuneful choir.

The fair Altruria of the bees,
Beneath the orange boughs,
Hears whispered friendships of the trees
As sweet as lovers’ vows.

Wee desert folk from strife forbear–
Their deadly conflicts cease,
As if responsive to the prayer
For Universal Peace.

No more on thorns the linnet hangs–
Slain by the cruel shrike;
The coiled crotalus sheathes his fangs,
And does not care to strike.

Here blooms the world like Aaron’s rod,
New verdure clothes the plain–
The wondrous miracle of God
That follows a desert rain!
-Andrew Downing

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Rappelling on Enchanted Rock

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“Rappel”

Thirty-plus feet
Is
a
long
way
up.

Adrenaline surges:
fingers fumble,
palms sweat,
knees shake.

Breath quickens
and heart races.

The air is hot and dusty,
and the tang of old sweat and metal
is heavy in your nose. Your helmet slips
against your brow.

But there’s a reassuring tug
against your climbing harness,
the belayer yelling encouragement,
and you smile across the platforms
to your friend the next one over.

Then you grip the gritty rope,
breathe in deep,
inch towards the edge

and
leap.

-AMMCJ