This is another Charles Rosen painting from the show at the Dorskey Museum in New Paltz. A lovely piece, so representative of the change I have seen take place on the creeks and rivers that accompany me on my daily treks.
I have watched the river all winter, watched it get heavy and slow, and slower, and slower, as the night air remained frigid and still. The surface froze deep, and I strained to hear faint whispers amidst crisp silence, and time and emotion were suspended in cold and ice.
The river knew my story, and my pain. It gave me insight, and it gave me beauty. I watched thin sheets of ice become thick slabs, encircling all that did not move strongly or fast. But with the push of light and season, winter has started to lose its' strength. The ice heaves up, is flung upon the shore, and once again the river becomes heavy and dark, throbbing and full.
Today was near 55-60, a heat wave after the deep freeze of the past few weeks. The geese are returning and grazing in the fields. There are deep boot sucking patches of mud everywhere I go, and lakes appear where a field will soon grow corn. I smell the earth, unlocked from the ice and snow. Once again I hear the trickle of water, and the moans of the ice as it lets go of its grip on the river.
I feel the sun, baking warm across my face, and I let spring slip gently into my heart once more.