Guerilia nature in the city

 Walking through town, I started to notice how a small birch was pushing its way through the concrete... and kept growing. And soon enough there were cellars with an abundant life under their steel grid. Soon enough there were ferns where I saw no soil.

All kinds of small flowers and even very briefly a small white mushroom, all blackened to dust in a few days and then others springing up. Yes, it is autumn, yet this will to live, to survive in the urban landscape fascinated me.

These improbable compositions lend a special touch of beauty to the streets I walk. They draw my attention to the abstraction of lines, to the simpleness of color and the futility of pulling out the new tender buttons. They have decided to try and get through autumn unscathed or to return when pulled out or cut off. I prefer these streets where life imposes itself, the barren, clean lifelessness is to me uninteresting. Best are the dark alleys. Where nobody bothers the plants, where impermanence just lasts this bit longer.

Silver Hill's blues

walking through the wash
past the cemetery
with bouldered graves
I am awash
with words
weaving and waging
in my mind
the impermanence
of time
of timeless laughs
in greetings and parting
Silver Hill
solid and symbol
of what comes and goes
old cowboys old miners
old cars old Indian wars
and one day
I awash
with words