At the conservation area. A Swan Lake ballerina sun gleams behind bare trees. A plane sounds. There's a bit of bird song. The river is a slab of grey. It's two days to Thanksgiving. It's so mild I comfortably sit on a bench & write. I'm not being fussy about what I set down. Clouds and mountains are awash in tint.
Wherever you go, there you are.
I have an image in my mind of an elaborately painted column.
Dream true. I go there.
At the Castle of Olana I look out at the clouds, the mountains, the river, and the bridge.
I take photos of columns.
Ionic, Doric, Corinthian... Persian. A mashup.
Wherever
I go - there you are.
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