Evelyn Firman, collage, gesso, colored pencil, marker, acrylic paint
        relentless, they rise again and again        reaching, pushing to ascend        recently, I consider that we may be the same        rising, rising like the waves       […]
The cold wind sings its whistling tune, the laden branches stretch and lean. The slush, now grey, will sometime soon renew with snowfall’s whit’ning gleam. The sun, for days, has lain repressed with clouds that hide her shining face. But e’en the clouds cannot arrest the cosmic rays of gloryâ€
