Ready for the year to turn and the light to return, I took a walk today–after the downpour, in the drizzle break between showers–and watched the full creek rushing muddy and slick through my end of town, and the raindrops poised on the rosehips and unknown (to me) berries, lone splash of color against the green and brown (except for the red twigs–I have to learn the names of those, too; except for the underwater trash).
I love watching water. The repetition that is different every time. The difference that comes around again, each time the same. The patterns that seem absolutely fixed, until they stray.
Sometimes I take pictures because I think they might help me write later. Sometimes I take pictures as a memory aid. Or so I’ll remember to look up the name of those berries, that twig. Sometimes, just because whatever it is I’m photographing is beautiful or odd.
Today I was looking for rushing water descriptions. Flowing water. Overflowing water. Winter is water where I live. But how to get that water onto the page? Following, a few attempts, with illustrations.
