Joan Mitchell has never seen it but in her imagination she is there
She feels the breeze off the river and the rich soil's warmth She hears bees buzzing among the sunflowers She watches wispy clouds drift overhead
Joan envisions the valley as it springs to life in its fresh greens vibrant pinks bright blues In its textures unfurling ferns rambling vines prickly leaves soft grasses In its slow decay as radiant summer turns to muted fall She senses it smells it hears it feels it
