My lights are off - my door is open - I can feel the moist coolness of the rain drifting in. I type by the light of my monitor as Feist sings beauty into the night.
Life is moving - and these days, these days I'm feeling more like a passenger than a captain.
Things are finishing - part of me wants to disappear into the night. To melt away into the past, half remembered with a fleeting smile. I find myself seeking solitude these days - seeking it in books and long walks and hikes. Solitude and introspection. I busy myself with work and sleep.
And at the same time there is a strong, strong desire to do just the opposite. A dream that is sobering, exciting. And behind that thought, the whispers of thoughts even grander, thoughts I've never considered, or understood. Who knows the future?
This undiscovered country, this great unknown, it puzzles my will - dares me to hope, dares me to dream of the possibility's tomorrow holds.
And hope is required. It is the cost of admission.
Despair not - worry not - for tomorrow is in better hands Neil - better than yours.
Hope, dream and act.
Move.
Pursue.
Work is there to be found.
5.15.2009
5.06.2009
The lights are off - my door is open - I can feel the moist cold of a rainy night wafting thru that door. I type by the light of my monitor as Feist sings beauty into the cool evening.
Life is moving - and sometimes I feel at time more like a passenger than a captain.
Things are finishing - part of me wants to disappear into the night. To melt away into the past, half remembered with a fleeting smile. I find myself seeking solitude these days - seeking it in books and long walks and hikes. Solitude and introspection. I busy myself with work and sleep.
Wandering around Pullman I find nothing left that I want to take pictures of. Everything seems familiar - it as if there is nothing left to discover behind the lenses.
Nothing left . . .
Life is moving - and sometimes I feel at time more like a passenger than a captain.
Things are finishing - part of me wants to disappear into the night. To melt away into the past, half remembered with a fleeting smile. I find myself seeking solitude these days - seeking it in books and long walks and hikes. Solitude and introspection. I busy myself with work and sleep.
Wandering around Pullman I find nothing left that I want to take pictures of. Everything seems familiar - it as if there is nothing left to discover behind the lenses.
Nothing left . . .
Someday I want to keep bees . . .
Way off the trail
Got bit on the arm when getting this shot - arm is still is oozing 
I miss the woods
Inspired by MC Escher's "Puddle"
Resting sore feet in very cold snow melt
Little Sister
That's not a heart shaped tattoo
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