The Narrative Image

...lies about its intentions smooth skin over muscles underneath covers the pointy things polishes objections into tiny pebbles has forgotten your name, but keeps a straight face A face like a river is beautiful... ...and divisive I purposefully stroke her wrinkled but ageless face only to find myself an island Click on image to view slightly larger version As night approaches, the river and the sun call a temporary truce. Waves of discontent diminish in the silence But once the sun is gone, the river whispers... dark tales of floods and cataclysms the passing of cultures and gods emphasizes Good Friday at the expense of Easter... click on image to view slightly larger version ...shows me the transitory nature of grass  waits smugly for me to understand the metaphor a sharp cold breeze...   convinces my bones "Yes, but resurrection." the sun reiterates.

Those animals that could, followed the sun south. Those that couldn't burrowed into the ground and went to sleep. Immobile trees jettisoned their canopies and learned to bend before the savage winds of winter. And all the while, the Earth continued its NASCAR-like journey around the sun, completing yet another lap and speeding on to the next.  Standing at the east end of Smith lake, I prepare to launch from the 'new' kayak and canoe ramp that Metro put into place several years ago in deference to the wishes of the rare painted turtles who preferred to keep their slough private. It is cold and dark and calm. The clouds have granted a temporary reprieve and opened the sky to the stars. All night, whatever heat was collected from the previous day has been radiating out into space - no water vapor blankets to insulate the earth. There is a feeling, perhaps a noise - an announcement that the sun will be rising before it actually rises. Perhaps the air beyond the hori...