Dear first love, hunger, and future me,
That a breeze is caused by the differences in air pressure on some mountain peak a hundred miles away.
In the soft evening breeze a raven flew by the cabin, swooped over the pond and flew up to the windows to look in.
There we were. Raven and I. Face to face for a moment.
That same repeating little thought; a need, a hunger. Capture his image, capture that moment, with any available anything that will make a mark.
Now that image is etched directly on my brain. Just like the time of the eagles on the snowy bank. Just like the time of the fox in the field. Just like the time of the hedgehog in the front garden.
That this is the way it is with first loves, true loves; they lead to a lifetime of hunger.
And it stays there on my mind waiting for the right piece of paper, canvas, clay, moment. They all do. All the captured memories. Waiting.
In my mind I blend all the memories like a load of laundry and wash away. Wash away.
And sort them out one by one.
Postcards: watercolour paintings of that raven, on Arches paper.