White Lake Spring Melt (oil on canvas 5 x 7 in.)
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The stubble along the shore gleams gold in the morning sun, and I decide to underpaint a pale indian red. A morning serenade is going on all around me as I stand at my easel, a cacaphony of blackbirds, but I'm too concentrated on getting the right colours and manipulating my brushes into the right strokes to pay attention to what kind of blackbirds.
Fred pulls on his waders to search the grassy shore and sandy bottom for snails and mussels, finding mostly Viviparus and Elliptio shells, as well as one live Pyganodon clam. The water is crystal clear and 5C near the shore. Fred says that the air over the distant ice is wavering with temperature difference, and I look to the west across the lake ice and see twisting ribbons of light streaming across the surface.
I started painting at 8:00 and I'm finishing up at noon, taking off my down jacket and my boots and long underwear to pack up and wash my brushes. It's shaping up to be another unseasonably hot early spring day and we must be off to hear where the Chorus Frogs are calling.
White Lake in Candle Ice
ReplyDeleteEvery moment is a pot-boiler
As the low Sun pushes into the fog,
Coming and going on the lake-sweeping Pines and Cedars.
Megansers barely ripple the open water.
A Phoebe vociferates his return
to the black velvet painting
Of waterside springtime in Ontario.