12/6/2002

12/6/2002 - 12:00pm

Residual glow of light pollution gave soft shape to the midnight room.

The cieling, now pallet, birthed the scene of a

smokey day on the American plains in the two thousand year past.

A young indian warrior on his first hunt has mortally wounded a buffalo.

Dumb youth and adreniline have him jumping the back of the dying beast.

The buffalo hurls and snorts in a terrifying last-chance effort to flee

its impending doom and the hunter on his shoulders, while an expression

of fierce determination mingles with suprise and fear on the boys face.

A butte in the upper left of the cieling reminds us of the western

origin.

"Can you paint it for me?" She queried.

"No, but I could tell someone else what I was looking for. The wreckless

agressiveness of youth and the pensive yet stubborn mortality of the

aged."

We lay imagining the sad/happy vision silent and smiling.

The alarm went off and I woke up singing.