hidden by obvious

Angry sky face cracks the clouds with jagged lines of lightening striking the pulsing peak of a red mountain.


A tree sprite sits and guards the forest and from behind large round sunglasses jeers with an extended tongue.


Where does the colour go when the season takes the life from the days before vibrant flower does it drip like rain to the grass below and leave a stain of the essence of the flow it once was.


Lines indicating direction fail to take into account depth perspective and turn the spinning wagon wheel to a domed ceiling peaking.


As grains of faded focus film the distant fall of invisible snow distorts the vision and quietly blankets the world.