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.