One bright sheet of moonlight and a flutter of gold leaves, a picture opened from darkness, a torque tree trunk, gnarls of its sinister face frowning -- a somber vision with brief streaks seeking the eye of the wanderer.
In this evening movement of air, leaves are touched by a starlit memory. The woodpecker knocks, playing his registry of notes, monotonous yet full of mystery.
Night is a wild creature, filled with countless visions, sky turning with prophesy. In the small hours the tree, its leaves and branches ghostlike, as vision fades around it.
Shadows whisper words among the nebulaeΒ : the past is not finished but speaks of other worlds veiled in illusion. Verticality calls to spirit-- Oh, to be given the gift of flight if only in a dreamΒ !