This morning the bed spit me out in distaste. I am not responsible for these dreams, I think out loud with the eyes, in a ritualistic mindless conversation with my disheveled reflection.
Purple sun-birds have doubled since the spring. They call out to each other, or out of joy, or what, I am not sure, but I know they aren’t calling out to me. I go out nonetheless and like a dork disturb their morning Hibiscus party. So, of course, off they fly, and I stay out with the camera looking for stories.
Morning light is special if you want to take pictures. Look a dragonfly!
and a dramatic picture takes place, with as much of concealment as revelation.
After that I spend some time looking at the intricate network of a spider web on the lemon tree. So many shapes and planes! Sharp three-dimensional geometrical figures in supremely complex and overly ambitious juxtapositions.
Sober abstractions aside, a ghost ship that never was looms maliciously over the otherwise overly benign summer morning.
I take a few more steps and another spidery abode greets me with the soft but strange and sticky touch of its silken threads. I pull back my leg in a moment of micro horror, and of course take a picture.
Well done, Spidork, my old friend. I think, the most caught in the web is the spider. Its captivity is a homely one.
Do you know of the cosmos under the leaf? I saw it today.
Before going inside to work on the pictures, I noticed the piece of melon that had been left out for others. Ants! Ants! Ants! Ants!
Have you heard of the giant who walks upon the red waters of the river of reverie? The story is only half-true. He doesn’t walk, he dances! The giant dances upon the red waters of the river of reverie! Young little ants set out in youthful quests wish to meet him, for he is known across the world, for his joyous wisdom. There are many stories. Let’s leave them for some other time.
Story Of The Footloose 