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Euclid’s Hell

It’s amazing to me how little respect most people seem to have for reality. The mind is capable of tricking us into accepting its version of what takes place around us. We repeatedly mistake our perceptions for the stuff of existence, even when we know better.

Those Trees

Trees

New neighbors, the sack of Rome, a treehouse in the Cascade Mountains

Sunday Morning

The Color Of Light

Through rain and sun and fog, through snows that melted before he was done with them, in winds that screamed at him, the painter stamped and shouted and reached out with his brush to catch the light before it was gone.

A Favorite Sight

Red hair, crimson toenails, a man’s chest

Rock Sitting

She never talked to any of them — neither the rocks nor the creek, the roots nor the leaves, nor even the birds perching overhead. Words killed living things, fixed them forever as solid matter. Nothing was solid here, as long as she didn’t breathe a word.

Popples

Sabbaths

Progress

Being a tree, meeting the neighbors, growing larger than pains