Our family has had a difficult week. It included having to put down our last three sheep, all of whom were much more like pets than livestock, and we're still feeling pretty low about things.
After I posted, it occurred to me that drawing the eclipse image for last week's "Homage" made perfect sense. I'm chasing that ring of light around the edge that tells me if I hang in there, the darkness will move on.
When I saw this week's theme, I thought-- but we *couldn't* save them. And there really are some things worse than dying. I had a hard time finding an acceptable angle on this topic, as a result.
Then I came across this, while looking for something for National Poetry Month, and suddenly I knew what I needed to draw. It's probably 15 years old, but I can relate to its theme better today than when I wrote it.
The sun sits low on the edge of the hill
Golden furry overheated bees
that swarmed, fierce and distracted,
settle at last in a rock crevice
and leave us to wander freely.
Jack's run, busily sifting pollen and silt,
loses depth with the light's ebb
shrinks to the soft talk of water over rocks
where small feet step out a dry crossing.
Berries melt so that fireflies
climbing green among the thorns
ignite the children's purple hands
blackness in the brambles spreading above
claims them for its own distant hive
and marks them as stars, irretrievable.