making marks

With the sunrise on the morning hillside the revelation that the winter snow is coming.


Those that lose the most colour lose their spot on the tree first.


A certain chill to the muted colour that never lingers just disappears.


Placed between layers of perception the exploration of different messages makes motion out of stillness.


To continue with an ongoing process that may or may not explain what the bridge is crossing exactly.


They come alive like spirits speak through flickering candles one twinge of thought to pause and find the shot that will trap the face of the host.


the eight

path indicator
infinity in motion
sunlight spoken word
reiterates the source of
symbolic destinations