Iterations: Green 1127


Iterations: Green 1127
ink and watercolor on paper
At this point I can all but feel it. Somewhere in the glazy shell of winter, its like a river running under your feet, noticeable only in small whiffs of air that hold tinges of the  verdant vernal scents of spring. It comes all at once– the smell of moss, of mud, of grass, of worms, warming days and emissions of nitrogen as the blossoms scheme their overthrow of the litter.
And then of course it seems to go away and the cold icy winds come crisp and sanitized back to your nose. Nothing but the iron scent of water and the cool clean wind.
But you know its there. You caught site of it and you can’t forget.
Somewhere beneath you spring is readying itself, Persephone is packing and viriditas is a squirming, sinewy beat about to devour the world.
50 days till spring.