From the leaves and the petals of the wild roses in the hedge, water runs off and drips down on the fern.
From time to time the burden of the water puts the stalks of the high grass under tension. Stretched like the strings of a sling they catapult the water drops over the meadow.
Tiny fruit capsules on stems protruding from patches and cushions of moss are taken by an ant which escapes a falling drop of water.
I love the rain; it forces me retire to my workshop and encourages me to continue painting. I dip the brush into the paint and connect the freshly washed green with the green brushstroke on the painting.
The rain intensifies the scent of the open landscape, a perception of the senses: the scent of grass turning into hay, the breeze attracting the crows before the first snow falls. The sunlight in spring shines on the fields and brings the first green leaves and flowers, which emit a beguiling aroma.
The sun appears and converts rain dust into diamonds, which, drying up, give way for a multitude of green shades.
Haze lifts and like on a stage the curtain opens and sheep, fruits, tree bark, a black bird give colour to nature’s canvas.
I put the brush aside, the competition is too powerful.
chain of silver beads
cascading down the hillside
fading crimson rose