Member-only story
Image and Words
How They Love To Dance Together, In A Stream Of Consciousness Tango
Flowing lines, light and dark, abstracted patterns, and a bit of geometry. They all called out today. Qualities in nature asking for their portrait to be made. Asking to be seen. Asking to be remembered.
Qualities once alive, now starved of life force, still calling out. “Don’t forget me. Take my picture please! Hang it on your wall. Remember me.”
The complementary patterns, the curls and twists, the crosshatching, the sacred design of nature at its best. Even after a bad haircut.
Dry palm fronds make the best maps. Maps for those wanting to get lost. The lost generation used these maps. Look where these maps got them. Got them nowhere fast. Kept them lost. Still they relied on these maps. Still do.
A shaman, who got his degree from a mail order catalog, made these maps. He convinced the already lost these were the maps they needed. They took his word. They still trust him after wandering in the wilderness. They say they love the wilderness. Let them be. They’re convinced they’re finding their way.
