My work with Jonas took the form of close reading, and this is a process that I often use in my work -- in this case, reading the poems again and again before I painted and as I painted. In the process, I found images that caught my eye and often brought other images to mind. In painting, I followed as many as I could, knowing that one thing leads to another. When Jonas wrote of a blue dream paling in a flat land, I responded to a paling I knew in my bones from the Texas Panhandle and South Plains. And the long yellow grass in my mind’s eye was the tall grass of the prairie that stretches across the Flint Hills of Kansas and the Osage Hills of Oklahoma into the Texas Panhandle. Every time I turned over a red stone, I saw shale cliffs, thought of Wichita River mud, and heard red dirt music. And the trees with their tangled roots were made more vivid by the memory of their absence. I found myself reading “alder” and thinking “mesquite.” And that took me back to my father including a little bit of mesquite in the harp he made for my daughter Regina before he died.