an image of trees frosted that forms a visual metaphor of either containment or hope..

(cold calculated logic)

The trees speak in a language of likes and hearts. Save the wild spaces they say, but the message is overrun when we bulldozed a space for our power outlets. We bulldoze our hearts to avoid the boxes constraining their beat.

Open spaces are here, we say! The future is now, we say! But cold calculated logic stands flaccid in the face of 1000 years of carbon based growth. We need no power we need no gas. The saws cut themselves and the irony is that karma is not open to debate.

So who’s to say what is what and when is why? Why not just accept you are master of your own youth and the only fear you smell is that of the burned eggs from yesterdays lunch..