The First Greens of Spring (chores, studio & poetry passing)

Full on spring fever has swept the house and I've found it hard to stay indoors. I'm going to sit here with my coffee for a minute before I clean out the second chicken coop and hang a hay rack - after that it's studio time. I have a portrait in progress and a series of small landscapes. I'm working on four 6 inch square canvases; the goal is to have them going at the same time and finish in three days. I've always resisted working on more than one or two paintings at a time. I'm trying to shake-off that tunnel vision a little, so I'm attempting this exercise before I move on to some of the larger pieces I have planned.

I'm looking forward to kale and poached eggs for lunch. I know, not that exciting, but I'm craving greens like I don't know what. Our chard, arugula, and kale are started - can't wait for the first harvest!

Big A brought home a book of poetry as a gift with this piece by David Budbill:

The First Green of Spring



Our walking in the swamp picking cowslip, marsh marigold,
this sweet first green of spring. Now sautéed in a pan melting
to a deeper green than ever they were alive, this green, this life,


harbinger of things to come. Now we sit at the table munching
on this message from the dawn which says we and the world
are alive again today, and this is the world's birthday. And


even though we know we are growing old, we are dying, we
will never be young again, we also know we're still right here
now, today, and, my oh my! don't these greens taste good.