Like anyone who gardens, I subconsciously depend on the pollinators busily working to assure continuity. Drought deepens with time, and I feel the parched land under my feet. Searching above for a rain cloud, my mind’s eye superimposes an engineered remnant from the insect world. Like a depleted cloud, it drips dry to form one last gold-rimmed portal to the next chapter.
Mounted in white wood frame behind non-reflective museum acrylic.