Early morning
We walk out to the field of sunflowers
It lays across the road from a cornfield
Burned out skeleton of a tree on the horizon announces August
In old days
We would walk Her
She would shed Her gold in the morning light
Words that come to me are
Softness
Peace
Gift
Sense
I take photographs
He holds my coffee …
In our new days
The days without Her
He wakes me early and walk me out to the field of sunflowers
Where I watch the gold she shed glitter in the air …
When I photograph the nature
I become endless
I see all the forms interconnected
and get a strong sense of belonging …
Where my step ends
the muddy footprint fills with water
Where my bare skin turns to sun
the crisp breeze whistles by and takes the lead
Where the sky’s reflection melts into the leaves on the bottom of the stream
Where the music I perceive has no notation, yet I know the beat and quietly hum the refrain
Where I is completely intertwined and
wants to dissolve here
and forever exist in this perfect symbiosis of Love
Today, according to the maps we crossed the border to Portugal. We ended up driving a dirt road amongst olive groves and sheep into a small eucalyptus forest where we could hide from those who draw those lines named borders and the world felt good and sweet here …
I put the doormat down on the grass in front of the sliding door of the van, this was our home now.
We walked out in the evening, to stretch our legs after a days drive. Slowly wading down the path amongst the trees, lined up with wild lavender and variety of little flowers. We stopped where the path split and watched a herd of horses out in the meadow in the sunset.
I thought to myself “if you ask me now, what do I want to be when I grow up, the answer would be Tarzan” I wish I knew that when I was little …
It took us almost two hours to walk along the beach to the closest town. It was hazy as far as we could see. The air and ocean blended into indistinct ether … I missed horizon. There is always something in the way where we come from. I missed horizon. It gives me reassurance in the numb daily routine of town where the greatness of our existence has been minimized to fake survival skills: where to park? where to shop? poo bags, plastic, rules and forms, standards, judgements, pedestrian crossings, boxes, walls, fences, lines - all separating and splitting the horizon into long forgotten memory.
The vastness allowed me to see the impact of human existence on our Earth so clearly. I fail to understand this kind of Love. When we are given everything all the time every minute, over and over again only to raid and discard back what we no longer need or want. It appears we don’t love back strong enough …
Rainy day in Morocco. Almost an Event in the dusty dry town of Taghazout.
We sat with my sister in a little local cafe. It was quiet on the promenade. Rain tapping on the tarp that kept us dry, seagulls screech penetrating the bones and the soft healing hum of the ocean. A wild spectacle took place on the shore and it made me think of Jonathan Livingston Seagull, when he asked “why is it that the hardest thing in the world is to convince a bird that he is free…”
I thought of the texture all the time. Layers in structures that surrounded us everywhere. I like when things make sense. When all flows in agreement within the order of logic and heart into which I created my bubble. It was different here. There was a free-form of layers unruly displayed all around in a moroccan mosaic like manner and somehow it made perfect sense and somehow it evoked freedom in my heart. I don’t know if it was the structure or the chaos, but it was magical.
