it was so long ago. what do you remember in a dream but impressions? for me, obviously a lot more.
the white rose i photographed at the campground; white is a wild color, not something we looked for. it stared at me beneath the afternoon sun like the heart of honesty. i stared back but all i could do was to steal its image; i took a photo.
i go to some semblance of the wild to remind myself that nature is still out there. i go for trees, dried grasses, pine cones, the stinky smell that we have all forgotten in the wild. when the raccoon came the night before, i could not beckon it to stay though i had chicken roasting on coals. we of the suburbian cycle have lost what it is like to be among the trees.
i grabbed two leaves of california bay laurel and said to my friend you can cook with this and found it was something novel for her.
how have i gotten so far from the earth?
today i have tear stained cheeks because it is not where i want to be. give me the city or give me the country. this in-between land is for people looking for conveniences and i am NOT one of them.
