Yesterday afternoon I visited a high meadow that reminds me of the Alps, except it's New England. The wind was perky and the clouds kept changing. So I set out to paint quickly and keep whatever I settled upon for sky and near and far mountains, resisting the temptation to fuss details. I noticed that though the clouds transformed frequently, they repeated themselves in a large, generic way, as if going through a cycle. What I like about this place is that the field is so large, and the vista so encompassing, that one becomes puny, just an eye, taking it all in, looking.
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