This Saturday becomes a Sunday

Heading west, shielding my eyes from the view into a setting sun,
my breath sucking the white through my sight,
and as it pulls the last vision from my gasping receptors,
I have to wonder where I am headed, and what I would see if my eyes served right.

So often, endlessly, like the pounding of my feet,
I strain to feel the rhythm that has inspired me thus far,
often fueled by the memory of the sweet cascade of water,
or the rays of the sun beating through a sleeping forest,
but in the moment, I most recognize the sound of my march.

While I would prefer to walk straight into the sun,
my feet obey a odd pattern, set into motion by my desire for a better course,
a meal that holds well, that spells out the art in my soul,
rather than the scribbles of my wiggling toes.

Sufjan Stevens makes music on a roof

#50.2 - Sufjan Stevens (MusicNow) - The lakes of Canada
Uploaded by lablogotheque

What are we Doing for?

Whimsically, I look back to the days of paper with no lines,
a fresh start, a clear plane to draw as I wished,
and if words touched the surface, it was a bubbly scrawl,
an unhampered affair, no business but my mind's eye on display.

Then came the days with lines, it was time to bend over a desk,
and repeatedly draw twenty-seven shapes,
all in the hope of distinguishing the definite thoughts,
to mask it with language, to dress it in a suit, and get down to business.

Next step was to restrict the horizontal windings of my stylus,
to lock it all into grids, to draw lines that represented numbers,
and those numbers to describe metrics I saw,
there was no funny business, with what I imagined, just the external.

And somewhere along the lines, I lost my mental control,
or so I thought, as I followed the many outside guide lines,
the internal affairs broke water and fought for special interests,
until my head could no longer spout like reader tape.

I am ready to upgrade, to split and let everything run its course,
I've lost focus and now I desire the complete edition of the world,
but I've forgot my mind, that it's housed in a periodic body,
that does not take well to frustrations, that melts down with neglect.

Wind Turbines are Large (Puget Sound Energy's Wild Horse Wind Farm)

From Kittitas, looking toward Mount Rainer.

Taller than the Statue of Liberty, standing at 80 meters tall (a football field is 100 meter long)

Standing at the base, notice the van in the background, dwarfed by a wind turbine.

This wind farm has 127 turbines.

The very long ladder climb inside.