Solstice Day in Diorama

Ra lies on the grass, a beacon of sensuality, stretching out the days of summer like raw Mexican mozzerella stretched out on wooden rafts. All around him the world is amorphous, untouchable, unpresent except for the sky and the fact that I wish to touch the long, stretched out body of Christ. The white-cracked knoll smells like just-cut grass and brings back memories od Southern cream pies, large inland estates, and endless bayous filled with roots in the shape of Roman arches and waters so black they mirror jewelbug leaves and mosquito feelers in a tamped Roman mosaic. A waterly sleep sa dep and dark as the reservoir where the lady of the Lake lies in nocturnal somnabulance is residence to bees, flies, knats, watergrasses, and the occasional alligator. The scarlet ibis dreams in this paradise of Hester and Dimsdale, every minute more aware of the potential of place to isolate, grow and redeem oneself through the antithesis of reflection. The secrets of trees peel open the pearlescent nocturnal lilly, revealing intimate natural worlds within worlds. Red-apinted songs chortle mystirously from anong the reeds, and a nesting bird stirs from within the soft, black humus banks. I reach out and touch him, vying for sensory engagement, his presence a cacophanous escape from the rolled alligator nets of disciplinary focus. A relaxation piece has entered my control group and I struggle to reform the synaptic focus to Ra before me, a continual allegory of calm. I wonder how others fall into and out of the slippery bayous with ibis-like grace. Just to the left, the sky is overcast, and through the lens, a mauve-printed orange.