FootprintsintheWind.com

The painting!
A modern day Blake!
He just keeps showing up!

:- Doug.

Retire?
Not done contributing to the world
(Whether it wants it or not!)

:- Doug.

The presence of you
is unexpected, abnormal
and yet…

:- Doug.

Friend, into your holy swirls, your unexpected presence here!

:- Doug.

I must, I must
speak out of the dream
for them, for them
hang on, hang on
the dream, the dream!

:- Doug.

Friend, into your fertilizing world. Spread widely now.

:- Doug.

I’m living in a picture-infested world. Usually not even recognizing them as pictures.

Some pictures start as events, then quickly become morphing memories; others start as an invention, often from mixing memories.

Stories flow from pictures. Stories are critters we are less apt to recognize for their origins and nature.

We have mini-stories we carry around with us: metaphors. These swarm about us, enwrapping body, soul, and mind.

Do we see anymore? Curious, could we?

:- Doug.

I like that picture of rattling around inside of an intangible.

:- Doug.

Why are you still coming to this class?

:- Doug.