a P O L A R O I D a day

Elusive

Deviant

Photo was taken last night, and will be posted later today, along with today's photo. Sorry for the delay.

Between stage 2 and stage 3

Should be locked in the creepy basement

Rests her weary bones after a long weekend of garage sales

Throttle Rockets vs. Grave Danger

Depth of field

You, I, We,
imagine a life in flight.
Wings taking us away from, or to,
a vision, a place, or concept.

Feeling wind, manipulating it,
caressing it on our journey there.
To see below, to watch,
to ponder or spy,
because our arms are tools of projection.

Lucidly we close our eyes
and even feel it,
this thing of freedom.
If only we could.
If only we can.

And when We die, do we fly?
Fly up to the clouds,
float around, see it all,
as we think the spirit should do?

Fly to our favorite places,
without effort,
to those beautiful places
We remember in happiness.

To see Our friends, someone We love,
whom We haven't seen in forever,
because the miles between Us,
are too many.

Just once, to fly
and feel Nirvana
with our limbs outstretched and soaring.

And when we die,
and leave behind our bodies,
our shells,
our legs,
our walking,
our exploring,
our freedom,
we trade in those sticks with feet
for those wings that we see,
and feel, and imagine.

What does a bird get in exchange, when it dies and it leaves its wings behind?

by Justin J. DuPre 

Psychedelia for the sale