Recently, after a Sunday afternoon skate, I posted to my Facebook page (do you follow along there?) I wrote:
“March sun, shadows stretching. Though nearly finished, the ice still holds the secret movements of the snowshoe hare, followed close behind by coyote. A lively ecosystem working together, like an art piece — each colour working together, shape taking on the shadow in another form. Despite the less-than-smooth surface, I love how skating over these traces tells a narrative that belongs only to winter.”

Looking at these tracks, these stories in the snow, you get a sense of both how fragile, and yet how strong, the whole ecosystem is. One thing really depends on another, and that strength is found in weaving together those parts into the whole. I find the same with art. In creating a piece of art, if you change one detail—even though it might seem an insignificant little detail— the whole piece has changed.

I find inspiration from nature, but I learn from it too; from the limits and edges that are simply part of the way life is.
Branches and trees seem to dance in sunlight, the shadow lines intersect and weave together, creating something real, for a moment, as the sun shifts.
Sometimes what nature has to offer is a lesson in appreciating the unattainable: those beautiful, impermanent visions that the human artist can only store away and savour.