It’s not that you’re chasing a white moth through the forest; it’s just that she happens to be flying ahead of you, right? It’s just that things come to you when you’re walking. And you to them.
An ephemeral forest pool, fed by spring rains. Here at the top of the watershed the rain doesn’t quite know where to go, so it sits for a while. Ripples on the surface show how any point can be the center of an expanding universe. I love watching them intersect and cancel each other out.
song dogs
on the trail of some
ripe panic
OTHER POSTS IN THE SERIES
- Self-Quarantine
- Pandemic Time
- Quarantine Walk
- Putting a Garden In
- Face Masks
- Flag of Hate
- Spring Evening
- Brachiate
- How to Care
- Public Relations
- Out of Whack
- Tadpool
- In the Fullness of Time
- Unrest
- Robber Fly
- Truncated
- Independence Day
- Drought
- Augury
- Descent
- Crickets
- Execution
- Arboreal
- Nuthatch
- In Common
- Undivided
- Antennae
- Presence
- Losing Maizy
- Heard on High
- Epiphan’t
- Smell Pox
- Winter Den
- 55
- Unforgetting
- Animist
- Exclusive
- Ephemeroptera
- Song Dogs
- Sproing