Henry Finds Natasha

If the glorious Natasha could fall from the sky into the realm of Henry-- it could only be in this time of falling leaves. Henry knows full well that even among the driven and flashing colors, the appearance of Natasha is visionary. So perhaps it’s even like finding the Star of India, highly-polished, while looking through a drawer of old buttons.

And at this time. On the verge of winter.

In fact, Henry thinks, it is statistically impossible, so this may be all a dream.

And, realistically, when things fall to earth-- that is where they are-- on earth and earthbound. We live in a major epoch of fallen angels, if you will, and it is littered with broken wings. Even recognizing them through their injuries and burns requires Deep-Seeing and eccentric, intuitive forensics.

You want proof? Here is an oil painting of the glorious Natasha: In the background is broken pottery and shattered, family heirlooms. There is even more fantastical detail: a collapsing chicken farm, an urban landscape buried in gray snow, an orphan out upon what appears to be the Russian steppes, a broken wheelchair, highways and airports painted at distorted angles. It seems to comprise a profound restlessness that Henry can hardly describe in one attempt.

And in the foreground is the glorious N. —smoking a cigarette!