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ArtistA field of Trifolium incarnatum a top a slight hill sits a home. A dock near the home reveals a branch of a nearby lake. In the distance there are soft blue mountains. Pastel brilliant gradient color saturation of regions of both warm and cold tones. Soft texture with bloom lighting. Warm feel of the sun a daybreak, contrasts with chill of a long night. A man appears in the border between the warm and the cold. He appears to be ancient garb with both western and eastern themes. He appears to kneel before the sunrise. The man appears to find himself on the liminal edge of both cold and warmth. His face holds hope his demeanor is that of a man with many scars. A frost appears near the ground in areas the sun hasn't brought light. Master work, Unity 3d, Hand detail, Focal point the home. Great detail of the mans garb.
A visage of Arcadian soil.
Along this road who could believe? In what, trust whom?
Would these words root? What's old fed the toil.
A bivouac is no home. Nothing to win, I need to have nothing won.
Crimson standards fielded before me.
No, I am no Populuxe bard. No stories to meet the auction block.
Contrived commodification a trajection of tragedy. A wealth of?
Could there be a bridge? Could there be a hearth where the warmth is held?
Crafting a place to dwell, even healing has a rhythm, a flow.
Peace crossed, now whole. Letting go a jagged role. Allowing what's lost to compost.
If time were a place, who else would dare to dance upon an un-wound clock?
For this is a dream of impassioned clover. May The Lucky Ones hold their hearth whole.
For my Epiphany is this a dark twist doesn't undermine this dawn, this Arcadian wish.
1ov3
Aaron
