Winter is lingering longer than I expected.

Spring is technically on the calendar, but the ground doesn’t seem to care. I went out on the trail the other day and caught myself doing something I haven’t done before.

I wasn’t looking for something to burn.

I was scanning for patterns.

That’s new.

For years, I’ve walked trails with a specific kind of attention. I’d notice a branch, a texture, a curve in a leaf, and think that would look good burned into wood. It was always about the object. The finished piece. What it could become once I bring it back to the studio.

This time, it was different.

I noticed a crocus pushing through the cold ground, but instead of focusing on the flower itself, I caught the spacing of the petals. The way the color broke against the soil. A beetle moving across damp earth wasn’t just a subject. It was a movement. Repetition. Placement.

Even the ground felt different.

Wet leaves are sticking together. Small pockets of water are collecting in uneven dips. The way everything softens after rain, but also becomes more defined at the same time.

That’s when it clicked.

This isn’t a single piece.

This is a collection.

I’ve been working on something I’m calling After the Rain, and up until now, I thought I had a decent handle on it. Mushrooms, obviously. Ferns. A frog. A snail. Raindrops. The usual suspects when you think of “forest after rain.”

But standing out there, I realized I was missing the point.

It’s not just about what’s there.

It’s about how it exists together.

The spacing. The layering. The quiet repetition. The way nothing is perfectly placed, but everything still makes sense.

I used to go looking for things I could recreate.

Now I’m starting to see how things are built.

And that changes everything.

Because it’s not just about drawing a mushroom anymore. It’s about how that mushroom sits next to a leaf, next to a ripple in water, next to a bug trail you almost didn’t notice.

It’s about building a world instead of collecting parts.

I don’t have it all figured out yet. Not even close. But I can feel the shift happening, and it’s one of those moments where you know your work isn’t going to look the same moving forward.

This one’s different.

And it’s heading to the wild table next.