In a secluded courtyard that could be Old Mexico, Spain or early California, walled in by flowers and surrounded by sounds - the drone of bees, the occasional peal of a mission bell - I watch the cliff swallows as they dart in and out of the sun, and gradually I become aware that it is all too impossibly romantic - to write about or even to paint.

To strike a balance between sentiment and power, the painting is planned around the strong architectural lines of the bell tower with a dramatic perspective.

Somehow, I still hear the echo of silvery sounds on a golden afternoon.

- Nita Engle