I lie under trees on windy days—listening—and imagine rivers of wind moving through the branches. Opening my eyes, I turn each gust into a different color, and imagine the currents moving, swirling, and mixing. A blue torrent pushes itself through the birch trees while a small tributary of red circles in and around a white pine trunk. Coming together they create a ribbon of purple that weaves through the braided, branched, forest landscape, carried away like leaves pulled down a swift-moving stream.
Black Dot White Space
Eddie Soloway