I wish I could draw what I see
I wish I could draw what I see but attempt as I might to capture it, I can't. You can't completely capture life, the movement, the energy. Before me lies a bubbling brook, flowing down, down, down, in such a hurry. The yellow, pink, and purple island of wildflowers each stretching their petals wide to absorb the sun's rays. The sun plays with their colors as the wind dances with the aspens leaves. There are less aspens here than at rock creek but the ones here are tall and strong. Although the pines are the giants, steadfast with an occasional flick of a twig or a bow from above. The air is alive with bugs and beetles, mist and dust. The moist soil and scraggly grass surrounds, as a pine cone lays half buried only to assure no uninterrupted comfort spot. I have a beer chilling in the stream, as I sit here wishing I could draw what I see.