Rainbows
A question I look at the tree at arm’s length. I see my body below. Both impenetrable beyond the surface. I identify with one but not the other. From familiarity? From the range of sensation? The hand I raise to touch the tree has gone through so much change. Tanned, vascular, fine hair at the back of the fingers; this hand suddenly seems unfamiliar. The leaves of the conifer have a distinct texture; pliable yet with the firmness of geometric shape. The intimacy of touch only adds to the riddle; where do I draw the line between myself and the world? A clue It’s soon after sunrise on a cloudy day. There hasn’t been any rain, which makes the rainbow seem even more magical. I know it to be illusory, and that somehow makes its beauty more profound. As my eyes follow the rainbow's arc into the clouds I wonder if they are any less of an illusion? The clouds have form and texture I posit. Yet the form is nothing like this solid appearance, and the textures are the play of light and shadow