MUTED SNAKE, view East towards present-day Idaho, at Winter Solstice [ click photo for next . . . ]
On the road in the Northwest of America.
Every well-made path was once only
a possibility. Because it is well-made, daily
use only makes it more beautiful.
always moving, and
living inside movement. Not the
artful, cyclic, back
of the migratory birds, but
of a tongue finding its way down
streets of peregrine
the fountain’s smooth, continuous,
laminar flow, nor
the fractal exuberance of
but a broken movement of stops and starts,
our passageway to the wayside,
these necessary crossings
of arbitrary borders...
Taking refuge among the trees.
The rhythm, of cautious walking,
of the unfamiliar and half-
picking up songs as we go like
so many seeds
moving from home to
the fur of our pants.
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All Photographs & texts by Cliff Crego © 2012 picture-poems.com