Sunday, March 01, 2015

Mild Day of March

It's March in Florida a bit rainy, yet mild weather but the birds are singing and the flowers are blooming. Here's my most recent work of art "Little Birds and Poppies". Truly there are no poppies here in my vicinity, but they are oh so fun to paint.

Little Birds and Poppies by Robin Maria Pedrero

The painting was sold pretty quickly, in less than 24 hours, one of my collectors will be flying back from the Caribbean island she lives on to where we original grew up in Connecticut, so the art will ship out promptly to be there in perfect timing for her arrival. There are prints offered here.

Little Birds and Poppies Pillow


On this the First Day of March reading Simple Abundance by Sarah Ban Breathnach she began the month with Wordsworth. A poet I've adored since Mr. Smith brought British Literature to an animated presence in my life during high school at St. Bernard's.

It is the first mild day of March:
Each minute sweeter than before
The redbreast sings from the tall larch
That stands beside our door.

There is a blessing in the air,
Which seems a sense of joy to yield
To the bare trees, and mountains bare,
And grass in the green field.

My sister! ('tis a wish of mine)
Now that our morning meal is done,
Make haste, your morning task resign;
Come forth and feel the sun.

Edward will come with you—and, pray,
Put on with speed your woodland dress;
And bring no book: for this one day
We'll give to idleness.

No joyless forms shall regulate
Our living calendar:
We from to-day, my Friend, will date
The opening of the year.

Love, now a universal birth,
From heart to heart is stealing,
From earth to man, from man to earth:
—It is the hour of feeling.

One moment now may give us more
Than years of toiling reason:
Our minds shall drink at every pore
The spirit of the season.

Some silent laws our hearts will make,
Which they shall long obey:
We for the year to come may take
Our temper from to-day.

And from the blessed power that rolls
About, below, above,
We'll frame the measure of our souls:
They shall be tuned to love.

Then come, my Sister! come, I pray,
With speed put on your woodland dress;
And bring no book: for this one day
We'll give to idleness.
— William Wordsworth, 1798


Eavan Boland has a lovely tribute to Wordsworth here.

This poem makes me want to paint even more.

No comments: