I Am a Ghost or a Wanderer

I have walked beyond the buildings and bright lights following the meandering track till the brick and steel give way to flowing green, whose colossus space elongates to cover all. No longer are there rivers of roads and pathways but oceans of green. Here my track matter not they are erased by the wind and rain, no longer do I need to choose how I navigate my way, it can be a maze or labyrinth, as nature herself suckles me with a green smell a heady perfume that dazzles all the senses neither pleasant nor foul.

For time has no measure here just the decay of ages the years growing the years maturing the years dying. Methodically I move forward the ground rises before me as I walk between great tors here my footsteps mean nothing their existence erased time only counts here, the endless turning of seasons that move forward. Here the movement of the wind rain or sunshine has more substance here I fade into the landscape no longer into a maze or labyrinth but a mix of the two, here I may find my way forward but digress on the way. Truly exists the importance of the journey for indisputably I am a ghost or a wanderer

The dangers of the road my letter to Vincent

Dear Vincent, I just received your letter as I crossed back over into France and dropped by our mural friend. I hope your week has been better after your horrible time in Paris. I would think returning to province would be a breath of fresh air both metaphorically and literally.

I was sorry to have missed you and your show as I was stuck crossing the swiss alps before making my way back by Millan and Turn before crossing back into France.

Just on the out skirts of the board crossing of Switzerland and France, I found myself on the edge of a vast pine forest. Here time had frozen and the wood enticed me like sweet honey dew on a Venus fly. Here I was ensnared by the tranquil silence as I sleepwalked among heady and intoxicating pine smells.

And it is with this part of my journey I wish to converse with you about color. Taking up the discussion from where we left off, I would say that finally see what you mean by the heavy burden of light, that mad demanding need to capture but a fraction of color on the canvas.

Here in this pine forest, I think you would agree is indeed a rare place a land shrouded in time were the pollution of man cannot be found a place where the worship of nature is required not that flesh like worship found in Paris. I must confess that this forest was both enchanting and beguiling.

And after what seemed like only seconds and was in truth hours, I noticed the sun setting. With great will power I tore myself away and turned my feet towards home. No longer I am I ignorant of the danger of the road.

P.S. I thought we could talk in more depth about different shades and tone of color when we next met. In the meantime, I wish to recommend that you look to the sunflowers for their earthen colors and with your enquiry of blue a starry night might work Any way looking forward to sharing a glass or two at café terrace.

Sincerely yours Brendan