My Beloved Sleeps II

Title: "I remember her reflection in the early days, when lightning crowned her forehead"

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Time and perception seem shifted in the forest, laying to rest all the weight of the world.

My Beloved Sleeps

Title: "I searched eyes for her, but didn't find her. I didn't find in the trees her greenness..."

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There is something about old, veteran trees that is so alluring. Even at times of day, or types of weather when they might seem threatening or frightening, I find myself drawn to them, aching to hear their stories. More often I find a quiet comfort in the company of trees, the smell of the loamy earth underneath them evoking my own memories of stories that have gone untold.

The endless line of reason

Title: "Multiple plot lines"

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I am always happy to come across these multilayers of lines within the landscape. I imagine the stress lines in the rock to be ancient narratives, which have become overlaid by the more contemporary narratives plotted by those sensuous curving lines of kelp. The curving lines are more complex than the straight lines in the rock, mirroring an increasing complexity in language and vocabulary from ancient times to the present. Within the ancient narratives, we may stumble across little jewels of wisdom that seem prescient; within those lush curving lines of narrative we may find intellectual stimulation, or titillation, a feast for the senses but not necessarily greater wisdom. The lines seem to be conversing across time, integrating their narratives rather than remaining aloof and separate.