December 21, 2010 § Leave a comment

West on Solstice, Whidbey Island 

Shortest day reduces lights to tones of blue. Dark lines the wires and wired voices traveling everywhere. Through the sky within the trees wiry sprigs alive in their middles with plans, so many directions to go. Stillness is illusion. Even this photograph breathes. Reminds me how markers bleed into rice paper, their edges faint and fuzzy.


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