Look to the horizon, autumn paints the sun’s strokes shorter… green fades to neutral shades while cogs remain unchanged;
The widow weaves webs with characteristics of ancient symbols of infinity. Through wondering eyes, one can see eight legs. The number eight has meanings that include cycles, connections, birth, death and the completion of a circle. Her venom; while it causes death is also used to create the antidote, another circle of not only birth and death but also re-birth.
Heretics viewed the widow as the creator of ancient languages. Their woven alphabet created a means for people to communicate as well as record history through language. One with the ability to weave magic thru written words could be pupils of her spell. Like her web, any power or creativity she brings comes only from within. There is only one creator who gives power from without, for it is the flesh of this world that is woven only from within;
Victorian age machinery, like strands of a web have 360 degree offshoots that all meet in the center. The essence of all good design is simplicity;
Beyond the rust, a modern farmer with modern machinery was sowing his field. I had a northerly wind carrying my scent across the field being worked. Shortly into the stand I look over my shoulder and there is coyote directly downwind in the plowed field. He caught my scent about the same time I saw him. With the sun in my eyes and farmer in the field I held my fire, I watched him cut the distance of that field in short order. “Coyote is fast”
Minutes later I have a pair coming in from the nameless valley I was calling into. In this valley things are not open to negotiations, much like the weather;
The lead coyote was a younger male and the other now a widow;
Here are rusty bolts holding a plate... the plate that keeps the memories within;
Inside are memories that denote both our wisdom and folly. A time when we learned to harness lightning into the form of electricity, there is more to it but that’s the essence. Putting light in a glass had to be one of the most beautiful things that generation had yet to see. As if God himself was inside the bulb.
These creations and of what still remains of them are testaments to their inspirations and creativity;
Coyotes are digit-graders meaning they stalk in on their tip toes. My last stand of the day created yet another widow;
Awe, there goes the sun… yet I can still see…
The widow weaves webs with characteristics of ancient symbols of infinity. Through wondering eyes, one can see eight legs. The number eight has meanings that include cycles, connections, birth, death and the completion of a circle. Her venom; while it causes death is also used to create the antidote, another circle of not only birth and death but also re-birth.
Heretics viewed the widow as the creator of ancient languages. Their woven alphabet created a means for people to communicate as well as record history through language. One with the ability to weave magic thru written words could be pupils of her spell. Like her web, any power or creativity she brings comes only from within. There is only one creator who gives power from without, for it is the flesh of this world that is woven only from within;
Victorian age machinery, like strands of a web have 360 degree offshoots that all meet in the center. The essence of all good design is simplicity;
Beyond the rust, a modern farmer with modern machinery was sowing his field. I had a northerly wind carrying my scent across the field being worked. Shortly into the stand I look over my shoulder and there is coyote directly downwind in the plowed field. He caught my scent about the same time I saw him. With the sun in my eyes and farmer in the field I held my fire, I watched him cut the distance of that field in short order. “Coyote is fast”
Minutes later I have a pair coming in from the nameless valley I was calling into. In this valley things are not open to negotiations, much like the weather;
The lead coyote was a younger male and the other now a widow;
Here are rusty bolts holding a plate... the plate that keeps the memories within;
Inside are memories that denote both our wisdom and folly. A time when we learned to harness lightning into the form of electricity, there is more to it but that’s the essence. Putting light in a glass had to be one of the most beautiful things that generation had yet to see. As if God himself was inside the bulb.
These creations and of what still remains of them are testaments to their inspirations and creativity;
Coyotes are digit-graders meaning they stalk in on their tip toes. My last stand of the day created yet another widow;
Awe, there goes the sun… yet I can still see…