Red Light, Green Light
Or: How to Inhabit the Fourth Dimension
(an image from the winter solstice)
waiting all winter
for the new life of spring
boarded up
dreaming
still
you can see it, though, can't you?
the once bare branches now covered in green
obscuring the view of what was a vacant building
the smell of sawdust and the sound
of power tools filter through
the plywood windows
what at the start of winter
bore no sign of new growth
held within it all the same
the potential for change
the work of life resumes
as resources become available
whether by following existing paths
or by creating new ways where
before there were none
for that is the secret of life
which is not secret at all
life continues
in spirited disregard
for obstacles and the frustrations
of mere circumstance
just as a baby bird
needs to find its own way
out of the egg that encloses it
life thrives not only in spite of obstacle
but as a direct result of transcending the same
always dreaming itself into being,
life is always becoming
this inexhaustibly
new world
This is the sixth pairing in Confluence, a series of poems written in response to original photographs.
I began writing these during the pandemic, using the pictures I was making at the time. I have continued this practice ever since, always writing in response to my most recent images.
I publish a new Confluence every new moon and every time the luminary dyad perfects a trine.