A hint of infinity appears as parallel rows of naked walnut trees begin to narrow in the distance. A shaft of light pierces a floating cloud and highlights the end of the closing corridors. Shadows flicker across the mowed weeds and pasture grass. At a distance, the lush green carpet appears soft. Up close, it is a motley mix of common weeds.
Bare limbed, with short skirts of foreign bark as their foundation, the walnut trees stand with arms outstretched over a flock of black birds sifting through the green stubble. The cluster of birds fly, leapfrog, from ground to limbs, to ground, to limbs, to ground, like speckled, transparent waves chasing each other. The steady, up and down, flow of gossiping busyness creates an undercurrent of chatter which dampens the hissing sound of the nearby two lane highway.
The slant of the sun exposes one side of the tree revealing small clumps of green gray moss. The underbelly of each limb is pale white marble, smooth and cool to touch.
The lace canopy of dormant branches creates an aviary. One blue bird lands above, straddles a tentacle, then hops from side to side, tilting his head to get a better view.
The trees quietly soldier on, holding their position. They demonstrate perfect order, an agricultural roll call, silently proclaiming their purpose.
A brown withered leaf clings stubbornly and survives the wobbling of the bare branches in the light wind. The buds are vise tight, sealed against frost, waiting for their appointed time.
The orchard is a series of extended halls filled with the music of narcissistic feathered minstrels that drown out everything, but their own existence.
Each tree has several gaping holes, unseeing alien eyes that stare from puffy skin rolled over and tucked under the dark edges of each shallow opening. The blank stares captivate the visitor and all sense of the dividing highway is smothered by nature’s immense, immediate, all encompassing charisma.

Catalina

copyright 2009

Catalina and Chris

"I remember loving sound before I ever took a music lesson. And so we make our lives by what we love."
John Cage

Small, sweet, bird, bell tones fill the clean atmosphere. Accents of sustained flutes, twitters, shrill toots, tiny trumpet fanfares and bird song coloratura answer to each other over the wetlands.

The primal symphony grows louder, as the ear tunes itself to nature’s orchestrations. This expansive outdoor amphitheater is carpeted with dry bushes and scrub sage.

The winter palette is somber; faded burnt umber, ochre, jade, sienna, moss green, and gray. The scent of the earth wells up from the rain. Drops of wet diamonds sparkle on the tips of grass fingers. Blanched trunks and limbs, of various shapes and sizes, drift here from four directions, and lay lightly on the marsh.

The wetland stubble circles a large sump pond with a multitude of inlets. Sea birds, black with red beaks, tip toe and rock on the gentle ripples from an unseen breeze. They float on the reflection of a periwinkle sky with tall columns of white cotton candy clouds. A red tail hawk glides with assurance and settles on an off duty fence post that is separated from the troop that lines the abandoned railroad tracks.

A faint whistle warns the wilderness in ascending blasts. The horn builds to a crescendo, then diminishes and fades out to the horizon, as the passenger train slides clacking into view, crosses the bridge over the lagoon, then disappears to the distance.

The cumulous clouds turn dark gray, close ranks, and then drape the lagoon in mist. Time lapse climate change silences the orchestra and feathered chorus. The relentless muffled roar of the Pacific Ocean drums on. The sun is escorted to the edge of the known world, and then slips into the sea. A white egret, standing alone, with a few seagulls, penetrates the gray.

A closed gate and sign announce the obvious “road flooded”. Only a bold intruder, willing to walk, gains access to the sanctuary.

Catalina
Copyright 2009 WavePoint Productions