A Man Is Laying On A Rock In The Water Art

a painting of a man in a kimono
a painting of a man with a sword
a painting of a man with no shirt on
a drawing of a man with horns and a beard
a watercolor painting of a man and a woman
a painting of a man and a demon
a man and a woman are sitting on a blanket
a man with a shirt on posing for a picture
a painting of a man with a helmet holding a sword
a painting of a man with no shirt on
a statue of a man with wings on a pedestal
a painting of a man with wings in the air
a painting of a man with a sword
a painting of a man with a sword
a painting of a man with glasses and a beard
a painting of a man with no shirt on
a painting of a man in a vest
a painting of a man and a woman
a painting of a man in a underwear
a painting of a man with no shirt running
a painting of a man with a fist
a painting of a man standing in a doorway
a drawing of a man with a sword and shield
serene landscape with mountains and water
serene landscape with mountains and water
serene landscape with mountains and water
a painting of a group of birds sitting on a tree branch
Akshardam
Metropolis
house with front view
This day, though, I hiked another autumn wood. Eastern Europe ancient; overgrown. So thick the view was dark at just a few feet off the path. All red and yellow; orange and brown, a million trees, each one in blazing preparation for long, frozen winter. I cannot but recall my friend’s words, lasting long, though he did not, and the instant truth that follows. Looking upward at the fiery canopy, matched against the bright cerulean sky beyond, I embrace autumn! Winter surely comes one day, but spring beyond. I have a winter to prepare for, but it is not yet.
The monster (Mt. San Gorgonio) rises in the North, all hoary-frost above behemoth shoulders. Snake-like clouds adorning her, I crane my neck, Gaze fixed past the big white house toward uplifted boulders. And at the South, like his namesake martyr, Hyacinth (Mt. San Jacinto) has lost his head in cloud. Burned bones against a blue backdrop he wears that legacy proud. Between the two, another sunrise gleams and beams of brilliant, white-hot day flash forth: Accentuate Sonora’s west extremes, and last night’s moon forgot to go away.
In days to come I stood amazed, walking through that forest, at the blazing symphony of color it brought forth, seemingly just for me. I grew to love my friend’s words in a new way, through the astounding beauty of the spectacle he knew was coming when he said them. I was young then, and didn’t know I had many autumns ahead of me.
Southeast Asia. Modern day. Nearer to the city now, the bus thumps and bumps to a slower pace. Grinding gears mark spaces between dirty children, playing obliviously in the road. Neither village nor metropolis, outskirts have no identity: Just a blurry line of encroachment; a temporary half-life on the way to something more. Dust springs up from the tires of trucks headed both ways on the road. A little girl stands crying in a mud puddle; her brothers laughing from the sides. She has to learn rejection to participate in this brutal, belonging dance. A little life, and a little death for a product truly worthy of its name: a good woman is hard to find.
Garden wall with flowing water design
serene landscape with mountains and water
serene landscape with mountains and water
serene landscape with mountains and water
serene landscape with mountains and water
Recompense to no man evil for evil. Provide things honest in the sight of all men.
portrait of two people together
urban street with city activity