As we enter the last week of Winter 2013, this winter that started mild then demonstrated a heavy wetness and stubborn staying power, I visited Lincoln Marsh to see what the mood was within the trees and birds and scratchy soil. Here’s what I’ve got:
There’s an immense in-between-ness to the fields there. Damp ground, cold water, soft ice. A chemist’s meld of states:
Even the ice can’t make up its mind:
The St. Patrick’s Day green is cold and mossy:
The reeds that can be so spongy and fluid in mid-summer are brittle and color-deprived:
There’s no visible sign of Spring’s soon victory:
Though we know, from our own memories and rhythms, that Spring never loses.
Soon, and surely, it comes.
Here’s the entire set (Lincoln Marsh, Late Winter, 2013)