all of these grand illusions and idealizations are granted furloughs as my mind settles on the fieldstone. there's something about grass between pressed walkway stones that fills me with hope somehow.

and the way a pocked brick can look a much better and more satisfying burgundy when settled within the bloating damp moss framing its place of rest. sometimes it's easier to see that the roots aren't what holds the moss down, they're what holds the bricks together.

but i seldom think these things.

in cases like these i like to see things for what they are. face value is a rare commodity these days.

there are spaces of soil worn to a sort of shine in this backyard, and i wonder what it takes to wear such a permanent swath.

there's a speckled and mackled shade draped across the lush and barren areas that moves in time with the sway of everything. everything connects and ties together in some strange symbiosis.

eventually i'll leave this behind and with luck it will be seen again only for what it was.