two flaming umbels of yellow-orange lantana; but my eye moves to the bud cluster that sits in the background
Lantana [Tanka]
2
St. Mercy by John Zuur PlattenAs a boy, I remember reading about the horse latitudes. Those were the places in the ocean where - at times - the winds didn't blow for long periods at a time. Drifting in the middle of the Atlantic, sailors would cut loose anything that wouldn't keep them alive & which might weigh them down, that sometimes meant shoving horses overboard to tread water 'til they died from exhaustion. People used to live or die by the winds. Today, we only die by them. That's what occurred to me as we sit closer to nuclear annihilation than we've been since I was a teenager, and as I reflect upon the prevailing winds.
the vaulted corridor is lined with portals to places unknown and linked to other hallways in an infinite labyrinth one can go from "here" to anywhere, but there's no map yours will be a stochastic journey; one might prefer to systematically duck one's head into portals, getting a feel about whether a given route seems favorable -- but we all know that one must often travel through unfavorable territory to get where one wants to be and so it's like being thirsty in a life raft -- as per Coleridge's Mariner: "Water, water, everywhere, Nor any drop to drink" in this case, it's a free ticket to anywhere, if you can only find your way, but what're the odds?