"Go as far as you can see; when you get there you'll be able to see farther." ~ Thomas Carlyle
There is snow on the ground here now, a soft, feather-light cloud, embracing every surface as it arrives, gently impelling frail vegetation to lie down under white eiderdown. Just a while ago, frosts stung plants’ edges, needling brilliant bruises that soon faded, leaving dermal ruination. Beige, brown, bone and stone colours blended the wizened scenery – a composite of lines and shapes, of the infinite array of light and shadow. The palette of dry neutrals in which colour is only a distraction, fade to two dimensions that tempt a brush with an open palm. The tactility of the landscape then, like a fine brocade, an enticement to touch; the season an earnest meditation to the opulence of summer’s sybaritic theatre.
““Touch comes before sight, before speech. It is the first language and the last, and it always tells the truth.”
― Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin