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Walk in the garden, my little garden. And see a world of life. The continuity of life surrounding me. It moves, it makes noise and fizzes. The love of the World caresses me. My skin tingles. Look in through my studio window. See my mirror image mirrored.
In this green protection, I feel myself becoming one with the plants and trees. Amazed, I sink into my lounger. The sky radiates peace. I close my eyes for a moment. Past and present come together in my mind. It is as if the rustling of the leaves is trying to have a conversation with me. My sketchbook lies idly on my lap. Footsteps along my little garden. Can barely see my neighbor.
Admire the beauty of a flower. A bee swarms hungrily around it. Without a bee, no life. The clouds are slowly pushed away. Listen through my earbuds to Chris Standring’s “Liquid Soul.”
Still nothing comes to paper. My little garden watches silently. Even the leaves fall silent. A butterfly flutters past me and leaves my little garden again. Get up with the sketchbook in my hand and stare across the street, where life goes on as usual.
Chris Standring’s last chords sound.
As long as I stand in my little garden, the jackdaws flying on and off don’t dare to go drink from the birdbath. Man, and animal will never become one. We feel elevated above the animal. The arrogant man to the fullest. Walk…
