I wonder if David Hockney is taking time out to think about how short a time we have to see this lovely world, and to spend with the people we love. I hope so, because then he might start to search for the Creator.
My two favourite pictures - picking ones of a reasonable size, some were enormous and only for display in galleries - were a cornfield and a swathe of dandelions, some in flower and some in seed.
I hadn't yet seen an artist paint hay as its now - not gathered into haystacks, but into those discs.
Anyway, this seems like an opportunity to put my dandelion poem into the blog.
THE DANDELION MOTHER
She doesn’t let
Her children fly
With any wind
She holds them in
White spiky babes
Until
The wind she knows
The wind she wants
Rushes past her
“Go, children, now”
she says
“and leave me to
my mid-life crisis.”
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