Monday, November 28, 2005

day of the pigeons


They stand like sentinels guarding the empty space their leader occupied moments before.


With a luxurious purple feather scarf the sharp eyed bird huddles from the cold.


If these ducks could read perhaps they'd realize they are merely pigeons and not of noble birth.


Captured in motion by water frozen overnight when the sun went away the bright light of day will melt time again.


Trying to appear to be as it is not the calculated crack adds focus for the blue light cast.


Somewhere in the randomness of a concentric crack lies a template pattern all things were busted after.

1 Comments:

Blogger Sir James Eric Watkins said...

I know I commented here or somewhere here yesterday. Fuck! I think I really am losing it completely.

Any way, you never fail to enthrall me with your sense of creativity, in many fashions.

Peace.

11:44 AM  

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