The other weekend I drove to Bitter Lake to get out of the house and take a walk. This spot is especially enjoyable during this time of year because of all the birds that migrate here. I saw plenty of ducks, coots, herons, even a swan, but by far the most numerous bird was the snow goose. Usually these travel in huge flocks; it's an impressive sight to watch them fly in en masse and take over the place with their flapping and honking.
There was one goose, however, walking alone across one of the ponds. It was a cold day, so the water had frozen over, and the sky was clear, turning the ice a speckled, saturated blue. Against that cobalt ice, the single white goose with its black wingtips and pink feet stood out all the more, and seemed to embody the stark beauty of winter. As I stood there on the shore, watching it wander calmly out into the blue, I couldn't help but imagine parallels between its quiet solitude and my own.
I didn't have my sketchbook on me, it was too cold to draw outside, but as soon as I got home I pulled out my paints and drew my recollection.
There was one goose, however, walking alone across one of the ponds. It was a cold day, so the water had frozen over, and the sky was clear, turning the ice a speckled, saturated blue. Against that cobalt ice, the single white goose with its black wingtips and pink feet stood out all the more, and seemed to embody the stark beauty of winter. As I stood there on the shore, watching it wander calmly out into the blue, I couldn't help but imagine parallels between its quiet solitude and my own.
I didn't have my sketchbook on me, it was too cold to draw outside, but as soon as I got home I pulled out my paints and drew my recollection.
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