There have been many landscapes in many countries that live in my memory, like the Greek mountains, the canals of Venice, the sea of the Bahamas, and on and on and on. And then there are the ones that live entirely in my mind. Swirling colors of spring, summer, fall,and winter shift into forms from green to yellow to red to white to dot the landscapes. Always, some landmark is out of reach, always some amorphous ghost of a lake or a tree sidles into the shadows. Woods, as “dark and deep” as Frost’s poetry, do not beckon, but become a barrier of boughs prohibiting entrance. Streams bubble and mutter. Hidden beaches spread themselves out wantonly as waves boil onto the sand and creep up my ankles. Faeries, merriwolds, all the little people inhabit the land, mountains, forests, streams, and seas. Dreams implanted become gossamer, and threads of spun silk form walls of chiffon.
Fleeting, gill-faced, snout-nosed, tiny-tailed apparitions of evolution, both code and coda of genes, romp randomly, recalling the past and edging into the future. They are both seen and unseen in the landscapes of my mind.