Somewhere in the air over land north of The Sault – the Creator’s charcoal sketch of winter.
Looking closely there are infinite shades of black and white. Shut down by the cold. Waiting to blossom and breath.
Some traces hug the curves, fitting in gently. Others leap out in their geometric precision and intrusion on the land. Safer and shorter, but dangerous in their assumptions.
The earth speaks but we do not listen. Like ignoring the old because they come from a past not ours and do not make sense in our present.
Our need to control is disguised by our understanding and application of objectivity. We arrive at conclusions fitting the limited ranged of today’s application.