Tadoussac, Quebec, October 2017, canon digital, polarr, ©Sylvie G
It could be worse,
it could be the end,
the deluge, the drought,
or blindness,
the desert or the cold.
And it could be much worse,
it could be forgetting,
falling, fading,
it could be indignity or disappearance,
it could be blurring on the main street,
or not seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.
What a beautiful scene for a poem full of imagined disasters…I do love the color and texture of those trees across the lake.
I put thoughts (as I do ) in the head of the white haired man on the bench, based on his body language, and the overwhelming grandeur of the landscape, but of course, something entirety different may have been going on in his head.
I do hope something else was going on for him, though…
….old age can be cruel, there’s not escape route…but yes, hopefully
I put thoughts ( as I do ) in the head of the white haired man on the bench, based on his body language, and the overwhelming grandeur of the landscape, but of course , something entirety different may have been going on in his head.
I figured that. It reeled from anxiety to despair very effectively, like a fast sled down a steep hill.
Probably not the best thing to read in the morning!