The graphite scritches on my canvas. Crosshatches. Lines. Shades. She appears from out of the mists. Without my pencil she cannot be seen. She surfaces from the plane. Simple in her nakedness. Candid. Fearless. Pure. I could call her Aphrodite, or Artemis, or even Mary Magdalene. She lingers in the dusk of my dreams. I seek her. I will always seek her. I seek her in the shadows of the first snow moon. When the outline of her form emerges on my canvas I think to reach for my brushes & tubes of magenta & ivory, to capture her in hues of blue. It is then I know the bird has flown. She is not to be possessed, only glimpsed; never to be held even in the field of vision. Ever present, never known, she is the woman of mystery we long for... who we adore.
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