Morning air

For the longest time, I have harbored a nostalgic memory of my walks up over the hill that traversed the pasture and down into the woods that bordered it at the edge of the 28 acre central New York farm that I grew up on. I often wish that I could be twelve or fourteen years old again, just discovering my love for the quiet solitude of the place where I spent so much of my youth, walking around with a sketchbook and carbon pencils and hard pastels in an army surplus canvas bag, feeling the rich privilege of being unencumbered by the demands of adult life.

This morning, walking back in the cool air from what has become my favorite morning seat, a tree trunk that fell in the woods here by the Susquehanna a few seasons ago, I became suffused with a feeling of comfort and familiarity that took me back to those days so many years ago, and I realized that this place has grown in my heart, a live and present experience alongside the memories that I so cherish. It has begun to feel like home.

cluster of trees by a misty river, 8 x 5, Faber Castell colored pencils