Two years ago, Maria and I were walking on a country road near us, and there was a barren “posted” sign, the poster warning hunters not to trespass had long disintegrated.  It was autumn, and the world was turning brown.

On an impulse, Maria, ever the artist, returned with a green marker to fill in some vegetation as the leaves turned brown in November and the flowers faded.

We lost track of the sign, and I think somebody pasted a “no trespass” sign over it, we assumed it had fallen down. The other day, walking up the road, I saw that this old wooden sign had been turned over, either by a person or the wind. I turned it back over, and was very happy to see that there was Maria’s lost art, just as creative and inventive as when she first painted it on.

There is something touching about this parable, about the gifts of an artist, about how small things can be beautiful, and about how art transforms and lives. I think the role of the artist is to keep hope alive. That’s what this art does on this country road.