A dear woman and talented beyond measure, Joyce showed up at our little mountain church one Sunday morning in September with some grasses and seedpods she had gathered at her summer home.
I knew her to be a gifted landscape artist, flower grower, and mountain gardener, but had never seen this side of her. It was enough that on top of her skills she was a thinker of remarkably perceptive ideas, generous with her neighbors, a spiritual force that commanded respect from even the briefest encounter.
"May I take that bouquet home and make a portrait of it?" I asked.
"Why in the world would you want to do that?" she said. "It's just a bunch of weeds."
At home I built a black box, set up black mesh, created careful lighting.
Soon after this, within months, Joyce was diagnosed with a rapidly growing cancer. Then this vibrant, alive, passionate and beautiful woman was gone.
In my heart and in my mind, she lives on. And I've come to call her autumn bouquet my own personal Night Watch.
Addendum. Every now and again I go back and enjoy previous postings in Z. Evidently this image of Joyce has some staying power in my life.
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