It wasn't our first superbloom. Living in Southern California since 1958, sumptuous flora streak the myth with brilliant orange, warm and cool yellow and violet, pure vibrating hues that I cannot achieve in painting.
The fields of the Lord await not only our labor but our play.
Each gifts us needed joy and bestows unrequested grace.
The poet Frost asks, "...what to make of a diminished thing", but that is not our task here. The vastness of a superbloom makes an impossible demand upon us, as all natural phenomena do - how to comprehend the ineffable vastness.
We have been given some means to try, however. I hear distant laughter as the effort continues. We have our constructed abstract measures: mathematical formulas, maps to scale, instruments to calibrate and traverse, a language of metaphors and similes, the music of orchestras and the artists' and the camera's technical mastery.
They are roadmaps to the magnificent reality of perception.
