There is a road through the forest and a sky at the end of it.
Blue and purple and gold and pink colliding above the trees like the day is telling you everything it knows before it leaves. The road leads directly into it. The forest holds the light between its trunks. The grass is green. The path is real.
This is the sky you see when you stop walking long enough to see it. The colors are vivid because you are present enough to receive them. The light is generous because you stayed long enough to look up.
Six inches by nine. Hung where you will see it every day. As a reminder. As proof that the road behind you and the road ahead of you are both visible from this exact view.
The road is not metaphor. The sky is not metaphor. You are here. You are taking it in. The forest. The road. The light. The whole impossible color of it.
All of This.
There is a road through the forest and a sky at the end of it.
Blue and purple and gold and pink colliding above the trees like the day is telling you everything it knows before it leaves. The road leads directly into it. The forest holds the light between its trunks. The grass is green. The path is real.
This is the sky you see when you stop walking long enough to see it. The colors are vivid because you are present enough to receive them. The light is generous because you stayed long enough to look up.
Six inches by nine. Hung where you will see it every day. As a reminder. As proof that the road behind you and the road ahead of you are both visible from this exact view.
The road is not metaphor. The sky is not metaphor. You are here. You are taking it in. The forest. The road. The light. The whole impossible color of it.
All of This.
