A dash of this, that and the Other. Some homage to Kandinsky and Van Gogh, plus my own dreams and walking visions. It’s been much too long since I. Far too many months since I. Since I found my mountain tops. Since I floated there, with the wind, and music, and grief. Glad grief because of where I was, and where I floated. Because the sun was shining down on me and mine. Me and my shadow dreams.
This is what it will be like soon. As spring approaches and slams us against soft walls, for fun. As it kicks us into seventh gear. And it has to be seven because that’s lucky times however many. It just is. Everyone knows it. Everyone follows those guidelines strictly.
Fire me up another vision, self, because who knows how long spring will last, and last, and last?
The hills are alive with.