Seaworthy
Map in Hand

Hiding in the countryside where the air has the fragrance of freshly baked bread.

Soft electric arpeggios evaporate into the ether like that morning mist that disappears as soon as you notice it.

Birds sing and a wheat stalk tans in the sunlight.

A single piece divided into twelve small movements.

Twelve small fragments.

Twelve small walks with eyes laden with lazy harmonies stretching over an ephemeral and delicate electronic veil like a cobweb.

Not epiphanies, but their promise suspended among budding branches or buried under river stones.

Notes barely held and then scattered one after the other like beans from a pod.

Twelve miniatures en plein air shaded by the vibrant touch of an impressionist heart.

Strolling among Monet’s oil paintings on canvas.