Cast from expectations of treeless horizons and concrete enforced cities, we landed here within the forest which quickly enveloped us. Towering pines scatter the August afternoon and we run through fallen needles and shadows. At the end of the day we rest in the native grases and watch butterfly wings open and close.
What more can I ask for, what more can I expect, than the colors of autumn calming the chaos within.
I walk the worn dirt path circling the overgrown fields where the winds have abated and the grass, flowers, and trees have grown deep roots while the land has gone back in time before the cities of industry.
(1) Putting aside hollywood notions of machine versus man – September morning is hidden in fog, coated with an early frost. Subdued sun scattered across fields, meadows, and prairies. The sky becomes the land becomes the horizon. We head north, leaving behind city lights and traffic for pine trees and winter in the air. (2) […]
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He longs for home of which he is unsure, what that home entails, where the road begins. He left. In one sense he had never arrived. Long nights turn cold. The belly of this beast emerges with bared teeth and claws, leaving two choices: accept the proposition, or move outside of yourself. Tiny fragments […]
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