I’m used to walking up into the hills, and I usually see amazing things, because that’s the kind of world it is. Now that I have pneumonia and have the breath to manage three hundred yards, with rest breaks, I’m finding beauty in small things, like colour: … and pattern …

… and subtle gradations of light.

That’s the kind of world it is, too. How easy it is to forget to stop, to really stop, and to walk through doorways in the air. That, too, is breath. Look at the complexity of edges lying within this image:

Random? No, I don’t think so. I think it’s a mistake to look for the edge of the universe, the outer bubble of the Big Bang, so to speak, at some distant point in space. I think it’s bound in every object and every ray of light.

I think there’s not only a mathematics for this, but a physics, a biology, and a language. We are hunters, we humans. We track game. We also know how to stop and read the signs. I think the signs are there, and here:

Staghorn Sumac and Filbert (A North American Hazelnut) Leaves

After the first snow has come and gone.

Contemporary cultures are good at producing more of the same. I don’t think we need more of the same.