Quiet February

But now they drift on the still water, 

Mysterious, beautiful; 

Among what rushes will they build, 

By what lake's edge or pool 

Delight men's eyes when I awake some day 

To find they have flown away? 

  Wild Swans at Coole, W.B. Yeats

This lone swan has been hanging out in the marsh across the road. I am told that in previous years there have been five or six. Where are the others now? Did this guy get separated from the rest or is he the only one left? I feel sad for the swan, but welcome his presence, and will think of him as I stitch the swan of the Codex.

When things are slow on the creative front I can always take pictures of the dog.

The forest is so quiet today that I can hear the differences between the sound of rain falling on the salal, the cedars and the moss.

I'm plugging away on the second owl panel. I think this one is meant to be a snowy owl, hence the white breast. I can't believe that Louis Nicolas tired of drawing feathers.