Dec 2017
Beginning the movement, catches my eye amidst dead leaves in perplexing folly yet imagined many times before; in between reality and fantastical imagery conjured from a contemplative journey. Awake!
Riding beside the troupe blowing and skimming with a twirl of gaiety and precision, colorful pinwheels taunting beneath a synchronized sequence bequeathed with unknown passage and certain conclusion.
The wind becomes a partner that carries them like a beige velvet flying carpet, dancing to a silent orchestra intention; meandering to a landing pattern meant to rejuvenate yet another design.
They have no destination which is odd. Somehow they are both aware of the vaporous soup filled with magnificent color and lines and nary a thought about where to go; it musn’t be plied for satisfaction.
The mirth of it all! Acting as if there was control over their trip and showing off in a bodacious manner, the pile snaked and flicked its lightening colored tongue along the gray bespeckled pavement. Reciprocation came while the observant outfitted a seat on a similar trolly, arriving by the far sea of imagination.
We are twisted together and unfurled in a maniacal gavotte of sensuous interpretation, transporting us along a path of wafting field grass and bubble-wrapped white pillows of cloud; static except edgeless.
How can this be? We believed we set on foot for arrival only to chuckle later that we have never manifested an anchor of adhesion; understanding that we are perpetual and stirred with a never-ending abundance of transcendence.
Not farther away, not closer to anticipation. Centered in a profusion of ideas and symbiotic embrace; we are wrapped in cavernous layers of gradient billowing fabric that becomes what we see behind our closed eyes. It is never the same…
Once considered turbulence we now know is a replete carriage of weightless feathering, delivering dreams with unexpected alacrity and reassurance.
Now that theatrical scene before me has relevance and authenticity unto itself and my own participation. My attention has been captured and granted free access whenever desired.
Riding beside the troupe blowing and skimming with a twirl of gaiety and precision, colorful pinwheels taunting beneath a synchronized sequence bequeathed with unknown passage and certain conclusion.
The wind becomes a partner that carries them like a beige velvet flying carpet, dancing to a silent orchestra intention; meandering to a landing pattern meant to rejuvenate yet another design.
They have no destination which is odd. Somehow they are both aware of the vaporous soup filled with magnificent color and lines and nary a thought about where to go; it musn’t be plied for satisfaction.
The mirth of it all! Acting as if there was control over their trip and showing off in a bodacious manner, the pile snaked and flicked its lightening colored tongue along the gray bespeckled pavement. Reciprocation came while the observant outfitted a seat on a similar trolly, arriving by the far sea of imagination.
We are twisted together and unfurled in a maniacal gavotte of sensuous interpretation, transporting us along a path of wafting field grass and bubble-wrapped white pillows of cloud; static except edgeless.
How can this be? We believed we set on foot for arrival only to chuckle later that we have never manifested an anchor of adhesion; understanding that we are perpetual and stirred with a never-ending abundance of transcendence.
Not farther away, not closer to anticipation. Centered in a profusion of ideas and symbiotic embrace; we are wrapped in cavernous layers of gradient billowing fabric that becomes what we see behind our closed eyes. It is never the same…
Once considered turbulence we now know is a replete carriage of weightless feathering, delivering dreams with unexpected alacrity and reassurance.
Now that theatrical scene before me has relevance and authenticity unto itself and my own participation. My attention has been captured and granted free access whenever desired.
