Menemsha Tin Man

I love finding corners of Menemsha to paint.

Just think of it.
Snow piling up on the steps to my landlocked studio.
The long cold winter of hibernating.
Huddling at the easel with blankets wrapping my feet
and mittens cut out at the finger tips to hold the brush.

With a stroke of that brush I am on the Island.
A warm salty breeze coming in off the ocean.
Strong October light raking across the channel.
Gulls whining at the fishermen.
And the slap of Larsen’s back door screen.

Oh my,
I can taste that bluefish pate now.