Presence

I could be blind on this gold day,
not know the honest sun
save for its tender warmth.

I could be deaf as a desert stone,
not know the drowsing murmurs
of one lamb to another.

I could be mute and never tell
another soul the size and shape
of all these breathing beauties.

But I couldn't be here, in this sweet meadow,
and not know your love
by its scent. There is no life
without this bounty, there is
no day without fruit.

By Kate Horowitz

I got chills when I read Kate's poem. I made me see the painting differently, like I was looking at it not as the artist, but as an audience.