Photographic Impressionistic Illusionistic
Photography Without Rules
…or maybe it was sunrise.. I don’t remember
but the woods covered me in near silence
only the sounds of air moving between trees
I could have been a fish off the California coast
In the quiet kelp forest with only the sound
Of water moving toward the shoreline
As it is
I am just human
oils on canvas – 36″x36″
Mud on my shoes
In my blood
Smell the dirt
Forgotten memories
The warmth
Of my mother’s placenta
Rivers surge
Make smooth the hardest of rock
Constant rhythmic pounding
Pushed by a forceful heart
Driven to the sea
The big stew
How foolish
To wake up
Thinking
For one nano-second
This is a place to visit
When…
I am the mud
I am the river, the rock
A speck
In the big stew
“Hiking Notes”
The sounds of clamoring birds and coyote.
Trees struggle against the wind.
What little heat that has been absorbed
Flies away, creating an uneasy updraft.
I love this little spot of water.
It used to be a seasonal river.
Utilized by natives and nature’s children.
Progress found it a good site.
For money making.
Sand pits. Dredged by machines.
Concrete mix, trucks and bulldozers.
And when it was time to leave it.
Someone said, “we’ll leave the lake intact”.
Dress it up with liquid amber and oak.
Eventually, it became a reserve.
Where humans are considered the intruder.
Stay on the trails.
Leave the coyote and cougar alone.
I hear those machines.
Like songs from above.
The silent sound of warriors hunting game.
Girls crushing seeds in rock depressions
They speak to me
These spirits of former days
I try my best
To listen
Water’s edge beckons
Its cool calling
Irresistible
Attracted
To the song
Falling so easily
To the promise
No thrashing
Of life and limb
Drifting peaceably
Friends
With the clouds
And the moon
