And the sun breaking through
On the untracked line
You’ve been eyeing for months
The last thing on your mind
Is an avalanche
But it shouldn’t be
The last thing on your mind
Is an avalanche
But it shouldn’t be
Tnorala rises
From a wide, flat plain
Dug out by a shooting star
Which fell to earth
If the bumblebee
Could do science
What world would its textbooks see
Some works of art remain incomplete
Once the artist has let them go
They need the touch of the audience
Their insight and influence
Wouldn’t it be nice
If the paths we could take in life
Were marked like ski runs
I love the chutzpah of communities
Which plunk themselves down on the edge of a continent
That the sea has been ferociously taking back
Since the land was born
I was intrigued by the shapes, and the somber mood of the clouds, and by the reflection the unloading facilities cast on Burrard Inlet. I shot off a series of photos, hoping something would work.
In a landscape
Buffeted by winds
Battered by waves
The land and flora
Shaped, shattered,
Broken and splintered