I sit at the window, wrapped in a warm room, looking out at a black
and white winter world. Dark hills are revealing old paths and boundaries;
windblown snow drifts against walls and into hollows,
casting white shadows with feathery edges; trees are a filigree of
black branches, twigs etched in white; everything else is grey – a landscape in negative.
I shift my gaze to the glass in the windowpanes. Each frame
contains a different view – glimpses of a mysterious forest taking
shape between the warmth inside and the cold beyond. Tall tree
trunks appear where water drops burst and slide down the glass;
between are the shimmering leaves – a network of tiny bubbles, each
one with its own shadow.
I look and look at this intricate inner creation which veils the
outer one. It proves impossible to draw both. So I relax and simply
stare . . . into the merging of two monochrome worlds.
Suddenly the sun comes out. Every drop leaps into light; shadows cut
through the view. Then – as if in another universe - bubbles split
and flash into brilliant colour.
topaz, emerald, amethyst
shot into a parallel world