I am sure that there are many euphamistically named Spring Drives around. Named with regard perhaps to a season, neighboring drives of Winter and Autumn. Or perhaps simply enough, Spring, without any thought except how to make some bit of former corn field inoffensive and slightly wistful and optimistic about green things and fresh, clear water. Without waxing poetic about living in Kentucky, land of limestone aquifers and home of bourbon whiskey, I happen to live on Spring Drive: one with an actual spring. Several doors down from me, water bubbles up from the ground and feeds a small stream. This is painted from life, 6″x6″, watercolor on paper.
