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Nov 5, 2021
Media: pastel
Size: 9x12 in
I borrowed the title for this painting from the poem by Mary Oliver, "In the Deep Fall". She writes: "Don’t you imagine the leaves think how
comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don’t you think
the trees themselves, especially those with mossy, warm caves, begin to think
of the birds that will come — six, a dozen — to sleep inside their bodies? And don’t you hear the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
the everlasting being crowned with the first tuffets of snow? The pond
vanishes, and the white field over which the fox runs so quickly brings out its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its bellows. And at evening especially, the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way."
I borrowed the title for this painting from the poem by Mary Oliver, "In the Deep Fall". She writes: "Don’t you imagine the leaves think how
comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don’t you think
the trees themselves, especially those with mossy, warm caves, begin to think
of the birds that will come — six, a dozen — to sleep inside their bodies? And don’t you hear the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
the everlasting being crowned with the first tuffets of snow? The pond
vanishes, and the white field over which the fox runs so quickly brings out its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its bellows. And at evening especially, the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way."
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Available Paintings by Sharon Lewis
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