crawling from the cave, like Plato's untethered shadow man a portal to perfection, as perfect as anyplace can be: meaning, it has depth & credibility the day is cloudy, and yet it's blinding, blinding to eyes attuned to the light of dancing orange flames, flames seen secondhand -- bounced off a wall, a dark, dank wall what amazing sights must there be - out there don't disappoint me now
warm light strikes the ruins, and - briefly - they are new
the frilly spines of an iguana catch light, marring camo
the rain tree sprawl endomes the whole street. folks miss the light show and its leafy glory, while enjoying coolness.
scintillant stream, ever-shifting dance of light: seemingly random, but so seems a music box drum until one knows its tune
morning light catches the moss, and i see it for the first time
My walk is in the early hours, in dawn's buttery light. There's a gold glint to all that's pale, whether a wall of white or waters of a placid lake or eucalyptus trunks or on the waving Pampas grass or on the robes of monks. And by the time I've lost that light, the walking hour is done. And I'll be looking forward to when next the day is dun.
deep in the cavern just beyond the light's reach lives what might be
Living like a Morlock, outside the shaft of light. Lured beyond walls of rock. Mesmerized by blue sky. Loving the thought of blue, but burnt by the mere sight. Praying for an Eloi view, but feeling it's not my right.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 