this year i stopped looking out across the water at “my trout” and began staring at the

underbrush, the tangle, the intimate spaces, and as my vision narrowed my horizons

widened to include other parks, other places. fruit too, moved outside.

the morning light in april on a certain birch, and how may leaves came and blocked it

out. light glittering on the stone ledge and snow behind findlay garden. the burning

bushes glowing, everything demanding ever more paint, paint piling up, paint piling up

- in my search for a language to express - to express -

how much strength and beauty in nature, in everything, how much fragility too -

overwhelming - i wanted to share something of that.

penny eisenberg 2008

in the fury of the moment i see the master’s hand, in every leaf that trembles in every

grain of sand. - bob dylan