"It was a wondrous sight. the wood was green as mosses of the icy Glen; the trees stood high and haughty, feeling their living sap; the industrious earth beneath was as a weaver's loom, with a gorgeous carpet on it, whereof the ground-vine tendrils formed the warp and woof, and the living flowers the figures. All the trees, with all their laden branches; all the shrubs, and ferns, and grasses; the message-carrying air; all these unceasingly were active. Through the lacings of the leaves, the great sun seemed a flying shuttle weaving the unwearied verdure. Oh, busy weaver! unseen weaver! - pause! - one word! - whither flows the fabric? what palace may it deck? wherefore all these ceaseless toilings? Speak, weaver! - stay thy hand! - but one single word with thee! Nay - the shuttle flies - the figures float from forth the loom; the freshet- rushing carpet for ever slides away."
Herman Melville. Moby-Dick 1851
A dear blog friend shared this with me this week as it reminded her of my ephemeral art. I read this book a great many years ago and was so happy to be reminded of the wonder within it's prose.
It seemed like the perfect intro to my latest group of photographs of teeny tiny ephemeral art.
I left this in place near the forest path for other's to encounter and perhaps the forest sprites to enjoy.