without words

Normally, we do not so much look at things as overlook them.
- Alan Watts

Waves of colour blended like flames of the sun.


Perfectly imperfect.


The Memorial Rose Garden at the bottom of the street is awesome. Thousands of roses in one small space. While I'm not a huge fan there certainly are a lot of colours to choose from.


Favoured colour of the day is yellow.


Set into a balance of regulated motion moving into disrupted across a dividing line only created by the way the frame tries to find perfection.


Set behind the momentary impulse to discover cohesion in the chaotic mix of subjects in motion the true image begins to show when time has caused the symbols to take on the shape of the mind trying to find an interpretation.


Inside my head were a thousand thoughts cascading and clinging to cause confusion and fear until I sought some kind of relief in the voice that this part of the creek uses to speak with and the overflow of the cottonwood market is an odd collection of misfits with drums beating out the message only they as initiates have heard echoing in the corridors of mental confusion found in the tattered heads and clothes like rags hang and close enough to see the water the silence they create as a background noise leads the tremendous roar to take on more significance and trying to discern a word or two within the tumultuous roar it was possible to see when the eyes from the shore coincided with the angle of the sun that upon the face of a rock stuck in an ever changing stream was a growth unlike anything this rock has ever seen and it was in the perfection required to even see the apparition alive the thoughts were able to derive the answer they clamored for and the silence that ensued was deeper than anything words can explore.