Beings, so long thought dead,
flap their wings overhead.
Azazel the demon lurks;
Waiting.
We lapse in to desolate depression.
He chuckles to himself and eyes the world from his forest lair
and calls to the spirits from every hell, "It is time."
They've waited and watched for thousands of years -
these beings of plague, madness.
They quicken -
become emboldened -
as we blindly stumble to our demise.
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I'm always fascinated with the mesmerizing Aspen tree eyes in the forest.
This trip to New Mexico I took a series of photos of "the eyes" and I intend to be creative with these shots as the spirit moves me.
Because of the pandemic, the writing that accompanies these shots is rather dark.
I was reading about the Spanish flu pandemic of the early 1900s and it occurred to me that these episodes are happening at a faster pace.
Much to contemplate.
