Who built the concrete heart?
Where do the bloodied footsteps lead?
How do the birds feel to have their poems interrupted?
How does a frog leap when the ground is shaking?
Where the automotive platelets congeal,
is it a scar, an accident, or both?
What feeds on that sticky mess?
What ghosts haunt when you tear out foundations,
repackage history to make a road?
Did we really think we could fly without falling?
Can you hear your own heart beat
over the crash
of the tracks?
Who do you answer to? Don’t you see
how we’ve made ourselves alone?
Who shouts in these woods?
Who waits at the edge?
When they killed the center,
what did we bury?
Who is going to stop feeding the roaring
weather is warm (relatively) air is moist, overcast with drizzle
Its amazing how different some things can look and feel in a different light, at a different time, on a different day. Today I wanted to reflect on the photo I used for my third digital story [in post]. The picture itself was a random find, a tangled collection of birch vines/twigs arranged against a backdrop of young trees and a carpet of dead leaves. My mission that day had been to venture down to the creek bed and see what I could find by the banks of the Crum. But for some reason the way the light struck the fallen branches, with their lone leaf, was almost ethereal. The color was a silvery shade, so when hit by the sun the color was magnified against the dark backdrop. That day, the way it looked was so lonely and magical, I hardly feel my photos do it justice. I couldn’t get the angle quite right. I think maybe that is why my digital story came out so different than I had intended. I didn’t really understand what I was seeing or feeling at the moment, but it spoke through me anyway.
Now, returning to the same spot all I can think is that it feels muggy. The lone leaf has fallen to join its brethren on the carpet below. Really, without the cool crisp day, the right lighting, there is little magic left. It makes me feel lucky to have been in that moment. I feel lucky to have found something so unique in its beauty, but just as important is the reminder it gave me. Memories are good to have and relieve in your mind, but sometimes trying to recreate the past is more disappointing than rewarding. And who knows, I might have missed something equally as striking by going back to a place I had already visited.