I stop every time I pass a stand of Apache plume.

In spring, I admire its flowers and delicate greenery.

In autumn, I fall in love with it all over again for its feathery seed heads that glow like little wisps of rose-gold silk, catching the afternoon sun and seeming almost illuminated from within.

Whenever I paint plants, people often assume I'm drawn to them because they're beautiful.

And of course that's true.

But what fascinates me most is what beauty is doing.

Those feathery seed heads aren't just ornamental. They're purposeful.

They're carrying the future.

The plant has spent an entire growing season gathering sunlight, drawing water from the soil, feeding pollinators, and building energy. Now everything it has gathered is being packed into tiny seeds and entrusted to the wind.

October might be my favorite month in New Mexico.The mornings are crisp, the sky a shocking blue filled with colorful hot air balloons.

And the garden is no longer shouting for attention. That bright urgency of spring and summer has softened into something quieter. The hummingbirds have mostly moved on.  Morning light slips through the windows of my studio at a different angle, catching my current project spread out across my desk.  Mornings are crisp and cool.

This time of year feels contemplative to me.

I find myself returning to the same question:

What do we carry forward?