|Paintings by Vicki Asp. Available for purchase at www.vickiasp.com.|
There's something breathtakingly, heartwrenchingly beautiful about a golden hillside scattered with live oaks (or, better yet, November's light green blush of new growth). As much as I appreciate the dense, green aliveness of Western Washington, there's nothing like a long, soaring ridge line amid that sea of waving grass.
Is this a universal phenomenon? Do we all experience nostalgia (the pain, to translate literally from the Greek, of wishing to return home) for our childhood landscapes? Or is it perhaps reserved for those of us who enjoyed our childhoods, or who grew up happily? Who grew up in a landscape suitable to our spirits?