I had two friends reach out recently about hardships they are facing. The kind of hardships that feel so unfair, so unnecessary. Both times I immediately thought of Mary Oliver’s poem, “Hurricane” which I have taken to reading nearly every morning. I’d love to create a new piece inspired by this poem. The painting above is one I created during my January 31 in 31. It’s kind of the general idea of the new painting I’m after, but I’m still thinking it through. Your insights and thoughts are always welcome and very much appreciated!

Hurricane

It didn’t behave

like anything you had

ever imagined. The wind

tore at the trees, the rain

fell for days slant and hard.

The back of the hand

to everything. I watched

the trees bow and their leaves fall

and crawl back into the earth.

As though, that was that.

This was one hurricane

I lived through, the other one

was of a different sort, and

lasted longer. Then

I felt my own leaves giving up and

falling. The back of the hand to

everything. But listen now to what happened

to the actual trees;

toward the end of that summer they

pushed new leaves from their stubbed limbs.

It was the wrong season, yes,

but they couldn’t stop. They

looked like telephone poles and didn’t

care. And after the leaves came

blossoms. For some things

there are no wrong seasons.

Which is what I dream of for me.