The days are getting longer.
I relish the lengthening light for painting in the studio. A late afternoon slant invites reverence: at the end of Trump’s first week in office, when the sun managed to stripe beneath a dark cloud in the west to light the ice on the trees, I realized I needed to look out the window more often and take a deep breath.
And yet —
The days (and, I am afraid, the nights too) feel darker than any I have known in my sixty-year span as I witness the chaos unleashed by the new administration in Washington.