This is what I meant in my last post when I said “April in Vermont rubs the world down to its body.”
In the first few weeks of spring, after the snow melts, but before the grass really shakes itself awake… you find geography. The contour lines of the world.
I’m very interested in lines. I’m endlessly charmed by contours. The boundaries between river and earth and more earth and sky. Even the way telephone wires cross the sky, dividing the blue into parts of a whole. Or an overhanging roof against a gray morning.