For the love of pansies
Charcoal on bond paper
8 1/2 x 11 inches
Barbara Muir © 2010
I am, and I think always will be crazy about John
Keats, the British romantic (as in literary period)
who died of tuberculosis at 25, and had written
a lifetime of memorable poetry at the time of his
death. He was one for the Ode. And the Pansie
is worthy of that kind of treatment.
Have I said that I love pansies? I won't be writing
an ode here, simply because I don't know how.
But if I were John Keats those girls (I call them
girls and they could well be boys) would get their
due, just like Ode to Autumn, and Ode on a Grecian
Urn. They are simply the sweetest, bravest, most
enduring, plucky little flowers in the garden. In
northern climates like this one, we have to appreciate
that strength and beauty.
I've been marking papers today, but I took a break
to walk Zoey with one of her favorite male dog
friends. And it was cold. So cold that some little
dogs were begging their owners to cut the darn walk
short please. Still we enjoyed ourselves. Back home
just as I was heading inside, I saw these small miracles
and picked them.
My drawing tonight is a quick ode to the pansies.
And that's all folks, more marking and working on
a commission tomorrow. And perhaps more drawing.
That will be fun too.
Have a reading-Keats-and-writing-an-ode day.