Inquisitive, he reaches forward without hesitation. 

Life is locked within, straining towards the time when it can burst outwards.

The golden hour before twilight shines its unearthly light through the translucent cloth.

The metallic shine betray the dampness soaking into the road.

Trapped air suspended delicately in the clear liquid.

The swings are silent, unmoving, in the stark landscape, patiently waiting for the sounds of children in the spring.

Late frost clings tenuously to new growth; a struggle between two seasons.

Buoyed upwards, it searches for dinner.

Invisible currents distort our perceptions but are tangibly felt.

The scent of ancient dust rises in the air in a forgotten land.