PATERSON RIVER RISING.
She is my river.
Not controlled.
Not tamed.
When will they learn she is nature.
Learn both her of her beauty and anger.
She is, and always will be.
Natures chaos in her best debutante dress.
Friday, 1 February 2013
MISTY MOUNTAINS
MISTY MOUNTAINS.
One does not just see the mist through the mountains.
One breathes it.
Feels the coolness upon the skin.
It penetrates the spirit within.
It carries you in flight into ones own self.
For a period you linger to discover your being.
Then disperse into the warmth you feel secure in.
Into the spirit of the Misty Mountains goes ones deepest thoughts.
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