A couple of weekends ago, seeking a respite from a world often painful, dwelling on recent deaths of people I have known in my life, I headed to one of my favorite painting spots, a place where it is still, and beautiful, and represents the continuum of life and nature's simple bounty.
Sitting in full sun for several hours, with the weather threatening to dump some rain on the parched land, I found it hard to spread a wash of color over my paper. The instant it hit the page, it would dry, a difficult day for a watercolor painter. But I persisted, putting down a simple sketch, carefully placing the shelters to create a pleasing composition. I'm so familiar with those small white buildings where the animals seek shelter, that I could draw them in my sleep, having come to this location many times in the past. Hardly saw an animal that day. Too hot for them. Any visible cow was heading back home to seek shade, and thus out of my view.
Tonight I spent a couple of hours adding the final touches to the painting. It really is a good record of my time spent there. And it really did me good to spend my strategic "reclusive "time communing with nature.