knobbled roots push through the old road
down below, the stream
and ducks looking vaguely like old shoes floating
I walked near my house and in a corner of suburbia came across a road that was made more than a century ago – only a portion unburied by the years, rugged with scoria. A new bridge escorts it now across a stream and on up beneath pines which must have been planted about the time the road was built. If in any place time was stretched thin, it would be there.
I wrap around me the dusk
reluctant to release the night,
shut it out with our electric world
drowning the souls of trees.
I kneel before the night
hanging my dreams on the stars
Shriven by the rippled
singing of crickets.
Some evenings call to you, and sometimes you take the call. This one my ears were tuned for and I sat in the silence of the end of day and let my soul go feral.
I feel sorry for tortoise. All the other creatures have taken to the air, even snake, and how wonderful it is to soar. But tortoise can only look on longingly.
But I have a feeling tortoise will be back, and who knows, perhaps wings are in his future.
“Nature in the city is captive, like animals in the zoo. (But some places are feral.)”
I’m reworking my style. I worked for years in animation, and while I was being paid to draw, in animation you must emulate the style of the show, so you become proficient at following prescribed styles. While I’m still drawing on (pardon the pun) other influences, I’m developing at the same time.
Writers talk about their characters taking on a life of their own, and I find the same with some of the characters I imagine and draw.
This is Mother Nature’s daughter – she begged to be drawn to life. In a way she’s my own daughter, in a way she’s me; surrendering to the earth, seeping like dew into the ground, growing like a seed into her authentic self.