I came across a twig lying on top of the snow. I might have trampled it with my big emotionless boot and not noticed.
But it called. I stooped and gently brought the stick to the sun, examining the transparent leaf it held. Tiny veins, darkened by decay, revealed incomprehensible intricacy.
I considered trying to represent it artistically. A gestural sketch is like a dance. Pencil-tip and eyes work simultaneously as if the artist’s fingertip were slowly moving over the object’s surface. In this case, my attempt would only result in a garbled web of fragmented lines on paper, blurred vision, aching fingertips, and more respect for this twig.
When I finally looked up out of the trance the leaf had on me, the vastness of the woods nearly jolted me off my feet. Simple walk, incredible journey.
