gaahhh.

I wasn't too threatened by the warnings of snow for yesterday... but this is what we woke up to this morning.

Last fall I planted hosta, lily of the valley, and one beautiful peony, all of which were happily making their way, and I'm glad I decided to cover them up last night. I realized this morning that I missed a few out front, which are now under an inch of snow.

The sight of those snow-covered pots is jarring something in my sketching brain-- that part that makes me squint at things and cross my eyes to see it in a different light, and grab whatever scrap of paper is available to make my visual notes on what I'm seeing. Sometimes it's the way light hits an object, or an angle that makes me think it bears an uncanny resemblance to a totally unrelated memory. Sometimes it's just the pattern of lines on the back of a truck, or the side of a building. I feel a pang when I read articles about people with sketchbooks and journals full of ideas and colors-- mine are scattered into pockets, coats from last summer, under the seats of the car, on the grocery list, and a hundred other places.

But then I have the pleasure of coming across a scrap months later, and the idea is new to me all over again. Maybe I see something different than I did the first time; maybe I have no idea what I'm looking at. It's especially nice when there are notes involved. "numbers. circles in washers and coffee mugs. arc upwards on frame." Obviously I had a plan there, and I might eventually remember what it was, lol.

My stack of new wrappers got sidetracked yesterday when I discovered I'd lost my wallet, but there should be some posted to the shop later today or early tomorrow in new fabrics.

I also have a few smaller pieces in the works, including some new trees. It's one of the nice things about this combination of being surrounded by woods and the trees still being leafless, every time I look up from what I'm doing, I'm staring at those overlapping bare branches. It's an endless fascination for me.