I pause in woods one winter day when leaves stick to the ground, and twigs and trunks stand stiff & straight - a breeze the only sound. It's a world without walls or bounds, but one can't see a mile. One's sightline is obscured by trees -- their trunks not single file. A world, at once, open & shut to eyes and ears and mind. But I've never felt so at home, for i'm no lonesome pine.
despite all the trees in this densely packed forest, it feels lonely.
a cluster of trees
stands out against the gray:
the last unvanished
early morning
rays hit the canopy
and fan out
into gold bands of light:
spotlights with no targets
A young man of Vienna was caught off guard smooched by a stranger beside the churchyard. There's mistletoe that naturally grows in the trees above that Viennese churchyard.
twisted skeletons
of once thriving trees stand
in the temple yard
bare frangipani scribbles shadow art on blank temple walls
