Maine hills
Beauty holds me bound to moss-covered perches, desperately trying to memorize - to burn in - the ever-changing image of beauty, the simpleness of this kiss of untouched land. Fantasies of how all looked before the chainsaw and the car came. Before man's boxes came to be homes - removing him from this roof of sky, this floor of earth, walls of landscape - and having now succumbed to the trappings of needful things.