"Land really is the best art."-Andy Warhol
When the Wednesday of summer is near, I already start feeling Sunday's creeping approach. Mid-summer hums of crickets and creeks turn into a revving engine in my late July mind. But then I go past, walk past, or drive past fields and open land and I feel like time stands still for a moment. A pulse of truth recounting the way the world moves and shifts and how a 5:45 am alarm doesn't really have to signal a certain death (maybe?), because nature and centuries of trees know it's all just a cycle of life where beginnings and endings don't really exist.
Like Adrienne Rich wrote, "In times like these to have you listen at all, it's necessary to talk about trees." And the thing about trees, land, and art 'in times like these' is, you get to straddle the past and the future and let it drip into the right now, preferable with a big sun-flare for dramatic effect.
In the end, or middle, the answer lies in timeless land; part sherbet sky, Swedish roots, and Fairview drives with some late night talks and open rain-soaked windows thrown for good measure.