woodburned birch with acrylic wash
I missed last week, I know. I'm sorry! Two weeks ago, the card was late AND I forgot to photograph it. Ah, well; it's a full year. I suppose these things are bound to happen once in a while.
So, here's last week's card. And at least this one scanned well and that means there are prints available in the shop again. Additionally, from now until April 13, Society 6 is having a sale. If you click this link, you can receive $5 off the cost of a print AND get free shipping on that print (note: framed prints aren't eligible for this discount). The discount won't show up automatically in my shop, so you must click the promo link above if you would like to take advantage of the deal.
The text of last week's card comes from my friend Abigail's musings on the nature of dead languages. It was, as you see, a sunny spring day in Seattle (often the exception rather than the rule around here!), and what better time to ruminate on the impermanence of death than spring, when everything seems to be proclaiming rebirth and new life (and we are impatiently waiting for those seedlings to sprout true leaves, the tiny pea vines to grab the trellis and shoot up, the flower buds to swell and burst open)? I have a little tub of fiddlehead ferns in the fridge that need to be eaten up; last week I tumbled them across the kitchen table and photographed them to accompany Abigail's thoughts; these harbingers are one of the first foraged foods of the year, and though I actually don't like the taste of them all that much, still, I buy them every year. I can't resist the siren song of the woods, and woodland foods, whispering promises of bare feet, bare legs, dusky sunbeams and soft air.