Walking on our farm this morning, sounds of shifting season gathered my attention. Hoards of starlings dashed in waves above with restless, impatient calls, and then left quiet in their wake. Wind rustled leaves of hushed colors, and my own footsteps crunched dried grasses. Usually I'm filled by sight- colors and shapes, but this morning the newness was auditory. From there I went to my studio and worked on pastels, carrying forth the grounding I found outside.
