Viewfinder SUMMER
Walk along a path,Walk along a road,Shaded by the branches of a branch;Their leaves bright green in growth,Their buds fragile pink.
A
secret place,
A
hidden entrance,
Hidden
only by the eyes of indifference.
Even
the crimson berries – the signs –
May
not draw that attention.
For
the little people,
For
the tiny beings,
The
garden route of silent musings;
A
gentle place to ponder another
Generation's time.
Generation's time.
Pokemon: Amleth and the Legends of Leire
Hamlet and Pokemon combine in this movie!
In the myths of the Golden Age of Pokemon, there is told of the last Pokemon Champion of Leire – Amleth. When Horvendill, Amleth's father and then Pokemon Champion of Leire, dies suddenly in a battle against his brother, Feng, Amleth smells foul play. Upon realizing the murder after a visit from a Darkrai, he swears to defeat Feng in battle and reclaim the title of Pokemon Champion – all while feigning insanity; however, his resolve wavers between decisions until he has no other choice than to meet his doom. He learns the inevitability of life, whether it is of the eventual return to the Earth, or of the choices that ultimately must be made, whichever way the path may lead.
Storm
grey swirls chaotic
the whirling sound of my hair
water lightly lands
the humid rain of
oceans and fumes mixed then spilled
the tears cry harder
Viewfinder SPRING
Bright
green and radiant in the diffuse light of coming rain, the grass and
moss grow. The heavy carpet of fallen autumn is finally cleared.
Withstanding the battles and injuries of time, a tower stands tall
and looming – it is marked by splotches and blotches of faded
colour: the ruins of the power of rain. The battle scars sit proudly
at the tower's ceiling, facing the world with resolve and
determination. Below, strewn haphazardly – littered and dying –
are the vagrant dirt coloured leaves of the season previous.
Upright,
erect, looming – an unreachable goal, an untouchable dream – the
pillar watches over its plentiful, ever loyal subjects. Reborn and
breathing again, the grasses and mosses and dandelions grow and reach
and grow and reach – higher and higher! Alas, their height only
gets them so far; the vigilant tower continues to reside over them.
But they are content. They are safe. They are life. They are
alive. They embody the power of the sun.
Dark
and fluid, a little moat-like circle of pooled water surrounds the
tower, whose deep umber sides are stained aqua – the remnants of
rain and air as they kiss the beloved grains of a felled ancient
tree. As yearning arms, strands of grass reach across the abyss, but
fall short despairingly. Their reflections, instead, fulfill their
desires: the shadows meet, connecting their hearts.