Things have been too gray for too long. Here’s a painting and a sonnet I wrote about a place and season with warmer colors.

Hyalite Tigers

It’s a miracle that I should find you on this
small stream in a Montana canyon. The light has caught
us all with our guards down, here in the mist
below the waterfall–except perhaps the trout,
who swim in neither light nor shadow but something
of both. Two swallowtails don’t seem to mind
this altitude where in the sun their wings
are translucent yellow panes on high pine
and willow. Sun-blinded, they fly so close
to our eyes, they turn in a blink from fire dragons
to neon brackets, closing on a stiff dose
of nectar from a columbine’s flagon.
With luck, all of us will be dead drunk
before the sun and our precious hopes have sunk.