We had hardly reached the spot when Flora threw herself furiously into the bushes.
Kirsten Marie Pisto, 2012, oil on birch, 11 x 14
We swim in circles while things get louder
Kirsten Marie Pisto, 2012, oil on birch, 16 x 12
The trout repeated, quietly, a taste of honey is worse than none at all.
Kirsten Marie Pisto, 2012, oil on birch, 14 x 11
The pleasure is all mine.
Kirsten Marie Pisto, 2012, oil on birch, 8 x 8
They felt the dark slip into the night, and they hurdled fistfuls of petals into black.
Kirsten Marie Pisto, 2012, oil on birch, 18 x 24
You are so dangerous. I know the end is coming soon.
Kirsten Marie Pisto, 2012, oil on birch, 11 x 14
You've been acting sort of tough lately. Close your roaring eyes and inhale these petals all the way home.
Kirsten Marie Pisto, 2012, oil on birch, 36 x 18
A wreath, like a mask, came down the river.
Kirsten Marie Pisto, 2012, oil on birch, 14 x 11
Sugar, you know you’re my favorite. But, you are a hot mess.
Kirsten Marie Pisto, oil and pencil on birch, 16" x 20" 2012
She was taking it slow, but there were boughs and blooms above that patch of stream.
Kirsten Maie Pisto, Oil and pencil on birch, 16" x 12", 2012
I'm as lonesome as you are and feel more empty everyday.
Kirsten Marie Pisto, oil on birch, 16” x 12”, 2012