The wind is whistling around, and everything with branches is being tossed about in front of it. The weeping willow branches are streaming off downwind. I like the color of the willow branches in spring; they go through yellow to bronze to brilliant spring green when the leaves are new and tiny. Later they will be softer looking and darker green, when the leaves get bigger and longer and more feathery.

Al, who has a flair for naming things and a loose grasp of horticulture, came home from grad school one spring day and told me "there are the most amazing trees in the middle of town, and they've all exploded in the last day, like, like… like giant ploofy flashbulbs".

And so the crab apple trees that line the main street of Amherst (which is not, in fact, Main Street for historical reasons) have been ploofy flashbulb trees ever since. He is also the one who described Highland cattle as hairy volkswagens with horns.

Like I said, a flair for naming.

Every Easter my mother used to do this astonishing magic trick. With two or three crayons and a white egg, she would make these short, meaningful lines and forsythia and daffodils would appear. Then she'd dip the top in blue, and the bottom in green, and the sun would shine on a tiny, perfect spring scene on an egg.

After a month of balck and white a gray, I felt like I was intentionally showing you only the gray, the cloudy, the rainy days and black of night. It is a giant relief to be able to apply color again.

For April I have decided to continue the landscapes, but try to capture the fleeting colors of spring; the haze of pink blossoms and green leaves that washes up the hills, the blooming trees and shrubs that color and scent the day. There's a lot to see, but it is going very fast!

And a happy April Fool to you all!

well.

March lasts a long time. Somehow I forget it has 31 days, and that those 31 days come at a tough time of year for me. Although the absurdly warm weather was fun. And the lovely, isolated snow storm at the beginning that set me off on this particular path for the month. And the days are getting longer, now the sun has swung across the equator.

I had not expected so much feedback from these circles – the black and white palette and the landscapes really spoke to people. I have given them all away, which is both surprising and wonderful. If you commented, or requested a circle I thank you for your interest and enthusiasm. If you haven't commented, and you would like a circle, drop me a note, or comment, and I'll get it out to you.

I still need to give away some January and February circles. I envision myself sitting at a table in town, once the weather warms up a little, with free art to hand out. I wonder if I need a busker's license for that?

I find myself wondering if you can intuit emotion from motion. The way a crow flaps, they look insouciant just moving away from you, or scoping out a field. Ducks and geese flap with a kind of desperation I completely sympathize with – it looks like their wings barely have enough lift to keep them aloft. Hawks look faintly impatient as they circle and wait for dinner to show itself.

Some birds look less emotive flying. Blue herons look impossibly ungainly and deeply prehistoric.

I seem to be at a low spot.

Have some crows. At dawn.

Another try at a dark evening sky with a sliver of moon and trees scraping it.

A crow, on a fence. It needs more contrast, but I like his shape.

Another migraine this morning, although I managed to beat it into submission by late afternoon.  Missing Al, who is traveling.