Milan, 1497
Chiaroscuro of light and shadow compromised by time's attrition, disciples' faces, pathos of the master foreseeing betrayal of his mission.
The Sea
I do not love the sea, humankind lives by breathing air. The oceans are deep, we do not belong there, engulfed in its depths we die.
From The Earth
A great dark ocean lies beneath us, a sea we draw upon from primal living things, life's essence we extort from rock formations deep down.
Night
The earth is turning and now we face the deep of darkness, but for moon and enigmatic stars beyond, strange stars that pose eternal questions.
Elgar at Birchwood
Horse-drawn over country they arrived, man with the nation's music in his head,
Pipe and String
Push the heavy door, enter into warmth, pass amongst the waiting folk seated in their pews,
Birds at Dusk
There is quiet, the sun has gone down. We are at dusk, and now they come.
The Night Wind
Like a soft drum roll or a bass recorder, the rising moan of a night time wind
What is Heard
For now, words drive us. In this tower of Babel, voices heave in torrents,
Time’s Hand
The foundations of our lives were cast in infancy, from birth and childhood, nurturing and knowing,