Creekscape

Paddle into ten thousand acres of Zen landscape.

Every screengrab is a metaphor, haiku.

Braided river.

Floating leaf.

Love-lies-bleeding.

Peregrine kill.

The things I notice are not mine, but me.

Projection doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Two duck fly low over the water;

Closing with the edge of awareness, the eyes become incidental to the object of attention, virtual camera.

Arc shot.

There’s no blue or green out there, but I see them vividly.

This was made, I made this, in the fading awareness of shutdown.

Oh, the elegance of decay.

Everything exists on the point of a pin.

And while you might become oblivious to the beauty of experience, the greater risk is of becoming too susceptible.

“Oh god, not another fucking beautiful day.”

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