Insect

The future is brightly colored and by summer can often be found at the end of a fish hook.

When it thinks it's going forward, it's sinking.

For the moment, dry land, which consists of dirt, twigs, thistles and pine needles on loan from a national forest, serves quite well as a home.

Slowly, with great patience but no particular consciousness, time crawls through the perilous landscape of change, of summer becoming fall and fall winter, leaving behind a body of work wherein the possibility of growing wings and flying away, or of putting on a robe to enter the pavillion of annihilation, is left to the mercy of a disinterested god.