A wet night on the Parkway

November

Until I started working on this image, I didn't know what was in it.  Certainly some T.S. Eliot, from Preludes perhaps.  And the intersection of organic and geometric shape.  And a handwritten language of branches and shadows and tangles.  A sanskrit of limbs and trees and night.  And of course, a simple, visual distillation of winter.
"The worlds revolve like ancient women, Gathering fuel in vacant lots."  --T.S. Eliot