Transition

I loved the days lost in the wild. A wooden sanctuary: opened up it's glorious gates for the temporary escape from a trivial life. My animated acrylic painting. Green parcels with historic faces amounted to the bark on the pine trees. No government tyrants breathing down necks as check after endless check was written. That suburbia wasteland . . . what a headache it is. Minnesota: there is only song. From the whistle of the trees to the hum of the earth. Boundless freedom. The feel of it in my fibers. Thrown back into civilization- cast into the same ridiculous routine. I look through enlightened vision and see the sad blindness of others. Though highly advanced, we still think with barbaric thoughts. If it's not wealth, it's fame or beauty. Greed is the perpetual force that fuels any action or thought. There will come a day when it will finally consume us. My presence will be gone before that happens.