to live in a painting

whenever i see a painting of another era or another place i always wish i were part of that painting....so full of life, so different from what i know...



the wheat still young and thin, no ugly billboards, no mile markers to remind me of fixed points. im suspended in this wet, glazed world of wheat and sky, pressed into a moving watercolour, im a wet streak on the paper.shapes shift,colours change. nothing is dry, nothing is set. it can all wash away in an instant.[