The delicate visual gift called the horizon is an illusion of perspective that appeals to the edge detection of our eyesight. In the early morning, the desert and its mountains form these color fields out of which blue lines seem to exist. These lines are not meant for me to catch them with anything but my eyesight. They are like ideas better to contemplate than pursue. Like imaginary directions to a place of hope. Or it’s a quiet message telling us how to feel the distances in which we exist.
what resonates below in this bent hull but a shimmer from above where the sunlight plays a humble tune on tattered strings stretched all the way out to a crooked horizon
Here’s a humble tune of hope I sometimes play when I feel like I’m swinging in a warped hammock.