Deep within the Mojave River bed basin, there is a wild community among the sweet smelling willows, heart leafed cottonwoods, browning weeds and yellow mustard that provides temporary respite. The call of the mourning dove, the friendly chatter of the quail and the dusty smell of desert mixed with the wet boggy earth of the riverbed transports me back to simpler days of childhood. In the shallow, shadowy pools of water, I see an upside down, reflected world. This quiet mirrored visage cannot be touched or reached but only seen. Shifting in the light, fractured and complex, blending the surfaces with what lies beneath, these shimmering reflections are like illusionary fragments of memory. It is a fantastical place of wonder and possibility that represents a child like freedom that is completely lost to me.
Deep within the Mojave River bed basin, there is a wild community among the sweet smelling willows, heart leafed cottonwoods, browning weeds and yellow mustard that provides temporary respite. The call of the mourning dove, the friendly chatter of the quail and the dusty smell of desert mixed with the wet boggy earth of the riverbed transports me back to simpler days of childhood. In the shallow, shadowy pools of water, I see an upside down, reflected world. This quiet mirrored visage cannot be touched or reached but only seen. Shifting in the light, fractured and complex, blending the surfaces with what lies beneath, these shimmering reflections are like illusionary fragments of memory. It is a fantastical place of wonder and possibility that represents a child like freedom that is completely lost to me.