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Ghost Bird
The Hermit Thrush guards a small nook in the moss covered rocks. Jumping behind ferns, it becomes a blur; a rustling shadow, a yellow light. What fairy land does it protect? Where does it go? Of what places does it know? Hidden behind the green, moving among the unseen, a ghost bird beckons us softly, cautiously showing the way.
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Remnants
Water, soil, leaves – some dead from last fall, others green from this summer. So much life scattered about. If only I had a microscope, I’d take a look at what lives inside that one drop.
AZTHET 