We Continue our Hike in the Woods.
We begin our hike – again – in a Kingdom of Clouds.
Well above the Waterways, the distant and indifferent
Oceans that separate these Islands from the Sun.
Elements: Sky, so Big. Water: so far away, yet shimmering,
inviting, calming, serene – millions of sequins.
So, the Earth is Next.
As are the Standing People,
the Friends who grow out of the Earth;
Protecting, inspiring, uplifting us.
Helping us, Healing us, Guiding us,
Feeling us, Freeing us, Softening the Blow
of the Pointless and Nasty Architectures
of man-made creation.
Sometimes it’s a Solitary Flower.
It just calls to you.
No Loud Songs, no Rock’n’roll.
Just a quiet little Entity: happily growing
where they are planted.
Happily adding their delicious and humble
tune to the vocabulary of the local gallery.
Always appreciated because of their solitude.
Their subtle but sweet
Mirroring of the Human Condition.
We are truly Alone in our own Sweetness.
AND THEN …
I had to print this picture BIG.
It’s just so Luscious and so Green and so Edible
and so Incredible.
These sculptures are not arrogant “installation art shows”
by those who pretend to have “insight”
into Human Nature.
These pictures do not stumble over themselves
in Intellectually-Ordained Descriptives
that need Dictionaries and Law Degrees.
They are simply Found Art of the most Noble Kind.
Jungle Animals whose Days have ended in Glory:
steeped in the Green Benevolence of the Big Painter.
Painter of the Sky. The Oceans.
Dreams of the Trees in the Burgundy
The country of your Eye.
The comfort and shadow
of the small resting place
you call “Home”.
Onward We Go.
These Open Paths
Are simply Doorways into Trust.
Walking in the Palm of Some Big Hand.
Lined with cotton moss,
And the odd
These are simply Bones.
They belong here, more than I do.
Perhaps a deer, a cow, a large mammal.
We have the same bones; these are in our back.
They are delicately sculpted, every facet and dimension
Now covered in Moss and Straw,
it offers shelter to ants and small bugs.
And supplies yet another sculpture;
a true “installation” of true “art”
that someone gave his life
for the immortality of the Hills.
These things Speak to Us.
Sometimes, it’s just a Play.
Of Shadow, light & Love.
The things that Grow inside us,
and the crumbs we feed to our
These things are Alone,
and they remind us of US.
They stay alone,
we pretend to “go” …
back to some place labelled “home”.
But we know we’re only travellers.
We will Travel