As I sit here watching the infant summer waxing and waning simultaneously the wind jostles the small white caps into dancing foam upon the stark contrast of the dark blue water.
As I sit here, thinking of what is past and what is to come, the wind jostles about the electric green grass to long for a public space and these thoughts to short to be record here through my mind like invisible things do through a strainer.
As I sit here, I’m completely disoriented. Out of space and out of time. A cacophony of moments waving and winding before me in endless mind-eye made film negatives, cutting and splicing from what I have imagined and what I have seen through historic document.
As I sit here, disappearing into this small moment in the blissful now and the thoughtful mindlessness, the wind jostles the blood red, pure white, legal blue and shining yellow stars into a fitful cacophony of flapping patriotic surrealism.