PAINTING "A NEW ENGLAND STONE WALL" by DJ Marshall Copyright 2017
" Stone Walls In The Woods, - - - Which side is in, which side is out? " Copyright 2016
A stone wall in the woods, shadowed a winding wooded trail, as it unwound,
toward a gateway in the maze of piled stone barriers. Stone barriers for the ghosts
in the fields, from the farms of the past. Sixty foot trees towered over what once
was nothing but three foot grass.
Which side was inside, and which side was out? A question often pondered by
many, and left with no legitimate answer. The Ghosts knew, . . . as they swirled in
the air currents produced by the fluttering wings of, "The Black Birds of Apathy"
Small flocks of ten, or twenty birds rose up, then scattered with each step forward
on the winding wooded trail.
A small dale, . . . about forty feet across, would not let the forest take back
control from the field. Boulders and small rocks, with brown leaves, formed the
surface of the dale. Not a tree was able to take root, . . . the sun's rays were still
able to bath any that were so fortunate to discover its existence.
Ferns sprouted in between the rocks of the opening in the wood. Having a seat
seemed like the only reasonable thing to do. The dale's very existence, owed itself
to the stonewalls having been completed, before this last patch of stone had been
snatched from the soil. Which side of the stonewall kept things in, and which side
kept things out, and for what purpose, continued to be a mystery, as one gazed upon
it in contemplation .
The Black Birds of Apathy knew - - - though they kept their secret for the Ghosts of
the woods, while they glided on wing over the open dale, . . . and the thoughts within
one's mind.
by DJ Marshall
" Stone Walls In The Woods, - - - Which side is in, which side is out? " Copyright 2016
A stone wall in the woods, shadowed a winding wooded trail, as it unwound,
toward a gateway in the maze of piled stone barriers. Stone barriers for the ghosts
in the fields, from the farms of the past. Sixty foot trees towered over what once
was nothing but three foot grass.
Which side was inside, and which side was out? A question often pondered by
many, and left with no legitimate answer. The Ghosts knew, . . . as they swirled in
the air currents produced by the fluttering wings of, "The Black Birds of Apathy"
Small flocks of ten, or twenty birds rose up, then scattered with each step forward
on the winding wooded trail.
A small dale, . . . about forty feet across, would not let the forest take back
control from the field. Boulders and small rocks, with brown leaves, formed the
surface of the dale. Not a tree was able to take root, . . . the sun's rays were still
able to bath any that were so fortunate to discover its existence.
Ferns sprouted in between the rocks of the opening in the wood. Having a seat
seemed like the only reasonable thing to do. The dale's very existence, owed itself
to the stonewalls having been completed, before this last patch of stone had been
snatched from the soil. Which side of the stonewall kept things in, and which side
kept things out, and for what purpose, continued to be a mystery, as one gazed upon
it in contemplation .
The Black Birds of Apathy knew - - - though they kept their secret for the Ghosts of
the woods, while they glided on wing over the open dale, . . . and the thoughts within
one's mind.
by DJ Marshall
" A NEW ENGLAND STREAM" Painting by DJ Marshall Copyright 2017
"RUSHING STREAMS, . . . WHAT'S THE RUSH?" Copyright 2016
* . . . A rush of sparkles, with white foam, swirled with all shades of
green, to blue, to simple pure light reflecting into one's eye. What was the
rush, and why? Through one's eye, it became a rush on nerves which competed
with the simple basic thoughts of the mind. An inconsequential stare was the
result, - - - there was nothing left to find, - - - nor was anyone put into a bind.
Problems of the day, one could not find. There certainly was no rush, . . . one
simply needed to stare at the stream to leave the world behind. In the mind, an
inflatable raft was filling with air. It seriously beckoned to come take the dare. As
the water whisked him away, a strong wind filled his hair.
One had more than taken the dare, - - - the real world was left behind. Stress
of lives in a society, which only left enough time to start all over with the same
chores the next day, - - - was thrown, with a heavy anchor, . . . in the mind, into a
deep blue bay. It was time to make hay, with a new life of creativity, each and
every day. No one would any longer waste time on the mundane mendacity, . . .
concocted by those in control. - - - Its only purpose being to keep all struggling in
a hole.
by DJ Marshall