Artist: Ryan Kyle Cross
A day one year I found my bare feet planted here in the backwoods of "Downeast" Maine, feeling very blessed and thankful for everyone and everything in my path with much intent and focus. This is a very simple place, this land. Quiet, secret, sacred in opinion and healing, all at our best pace in our own way and doing well.
Here live some of the most amazing folk, tucked in between the trees and around the corners of these forgotten roads. Through endless small towns that might as well be one. Where you give directions by lakes and can walk barefoot down the road and return waves from the people passing by. I can still feel the cold water of Pleasant lake in late October or was it May? August blueberry stained blistered hands, how your back feels after the third day and them red fields in the fall. Bless the bees, the very best friends and kindest people you will ever m33t. How can one not be inspired? Back to the woods I say and leave your shoes at the forests edge.
It is the eleventh hour and the moon shines through the web of branches, lighting my way. My paths have led me here to this open door, this forests floor and the air is thick with enchantment and imagination. Where the lakes have eyes and secrets lie beneath the matted leaves and those with ears can hear the hidden footsteps through the trees. A hush and silence through mornings mist of timelessness and pixie kiss, on wind and whim through thick and thin, I am thankful for this wish. Eye wish we all can find the time to remember how to mend. With all but pointy ears to hear amidst the masses fend. All lost in this big city twist, in life apart and then. Alive in eyes, synchronic times stitch all of us, ascend.
This goddess here eye see her having no idea, but why? I recognize her signature woven throughout all time. So long ago our rivers flowed between the towers, eye. The same is so as other forms emerge from in my mind. As calm as soul could ever bee, intent into inspire. Eons of longings held within these bodies wired desires. Entwined inclined divided by the pair of both the wires. In healing times we wipe our eyes and find what stokes our fires.
