Weather is the answer When I can’t go out into flowery places Weather is my wonder About the kind of morning Hidden behind the hill of sky Hilda Conkling
I usually pick out poems that somehow relate to the art, whether through color, feeling or whatever. This one, don’t know why I chose it, the poem doesn’t even make sense to me. Hm, maybe that’s why, life was a little chaotic at the moment. Food for thought. Does your life come through when you create?