Ink on Paper
22 X 28 Inches

The forest here in Bethel is as dense as it is  possible to be right now. Small brush and bush is at  absolute maximum:  berried, thorned, leafed-out.  Still flowering if not yet berried.  Plenty of food for all.  Coming upon a bed of ferns, green beyond all description, is to enter a much older world. Older but at the same time fresh and somehow because of that new as well.  Primal, what does it mean if not to know at once. To know through the body. Magic, she is here.

The children of the forest seem as in a deep nest.  I saw three does with young-enough-to-still-be-spotted fawns when I was crossing George's Gap yesterday.  A pair of twins, not more than two feet high, were  following one of the does, a gorgeous tawny mother, up a high bank on quivering small stick legs.  She plunged up and into the thick of it, steady and sure.  And my god how I admired her in that moment.