This is a perfect example of January 31st’s special day, “Your Heart With Art Day,” noted on The Home Page.
Claude Monetâ€™s Le jardin aâ€™ Giverny
Each morning I take the path that leads
to Claude Monetâ€™s â€œLe jardin aâ€™ Giverny,â€
the print I bought in a Second Hand store
to replace the Norman Rockwell painting
of umpires huddling under an umbrella in a downpour.
The colors blur like the rain or tears streaming down,
until I see erupting out of my dark dismal format,
a luminous path.Â I breathe rare Mozartian air.
Now I compress this light into my life,
it is Springtime all year round for me,
though clouds oppress more each day,
though snow has stolen what light there is
in its bones of decay.
What delicacy of brush strokes teased the flowers
into submission, beauty in the filigree of leaves,
a protoplasm of light and depth.
The fixed weight of time has no license here,
space exists in translucent light alone,
divided between the green plants and the sky above.
Near the end of his life, frustrated with recent paintings,
which never seemed to emerge like his eyeâ€™s image,
he said his only true masterpiece was his garden,
in banks of color or in a single stem.
Bulbs and seeds planted according to his dictates,
a riotous spectrum adhering perfectly
to his schedule of blooms creating intensity and tone,
each completing a note in a balanced composition.
Itâ€™s the path I want to take on my last day,
the perfect harmony of sun, not overcoming
shadows that save us from its penetrating gaze.
Not the betrayal of lifeâ€™s built-in texture.