Photography… one can be driven to distraction by the quest for great compositions, perfect light clarity color equipment achievement. Another however finds in its focus a moment to live, finding within its viewfinder the world without, in its colors a palette to explore in its wide-angles a play of light and in this reversion to a current instant a mindfulness, into the beauty of what IS, a meditation into the reality of NOW, and a fleeting appreciation of ALL THIS.
By this glass revealed are such wonders details in a clear sky textures in a dry leaf a juxtaposition of dead twig and green sprout humility in the eye of a lion nectar at the Hummingbird’s beak landscapes duplicated in puddles ethereality of clouds.
A question dawns this immense canvas unbounded this mural to end all murals with its richness of depth of color of form of material of smell of ideas unlimited of things both imagined and un-imagined.. who is the artist? …
I saw him stumble and reach out for my hand
one so sure-footed that others had always reached out for his.
I heard him panting and gasping for breath
one so strong that it had appeared he never rested.
I felt him grasp tightly, my arm for balance
one so independent that he had seemed to need no help
I saw him tear up as he reflected on of his life
one so driven that he’d seldom looked back
I heard him talk about the feelings and hurt
one so formidable that we’d never considered his pain
I felt him turning spiritual and philosophical
one so practical that he had appeared only to see the material.
He thinks today’s is the last suit he’ll ever buy
a man who seldom acknowledged endings
He recapped simple instructions as we drove
a man who knows how to do everything
He said things that are obvious and apparent
a man who had little patience with chit-chat.
He thanked me today for a suit I bought him
a man who bought me every suit I’ve ever owned
He wondered aloud why people are mean
a man …
Our route is littered with towns from Illinois to New Jersey rundown broken spirits crumbled people-less homes like homeless people. Committed to despair by man’s inattention and time’s impatience. Paint peeling on white picked fences with rotten posts. Rusty tractors decaying in gardens amidst wildflowers. Signs reading ‘for sale’, really saying ‘abandoned’. Here its seems life is stripped down to its essence: survival. This dilapidation of America real evident indisputable sad revocable? unplanned is a crisis. You ask why Trump won the election The answer self-evident in this scape of rural America. Just as you had asked years ago why Obama had won? and I walked with you thru inner-city Paterson with it’s discarded human forms huddled in doorways, Adult bars the only businesses open for commerce, Fearful people moving quickly to comfort scared kids looking out of keyholes at immortality degeneracy decline decay. There too, the Signs that read ‘for sale’, really mean ‘abandoned’. That breakdown of America’s fabric its promise its contract… T…