Through the hanging fog in the morning, I count on the light to crack through; and when it does, I feel renewed. I think to myself how dependent my moods are on the light.
Driving down the freeway I beam at the rich burgundy leaves on the trees, glistening back into my senses, carving a place inside of me, to stay. Even without camera, I am constantly taking photos with my mind, with the connective cord inside my soul.
Driving down the streets, I see the Crepe Myrtle is in bloom, rich fuchsia petals jutting out—many trees lined down the street divider, a welcome sight—nature commingling with the fruits of industry.
I miss my old home, where nature was right there outside my door. Surrounded by tall Pines, Mountains, even a lane of Bamboo; Deer, plenty of cackling Squirrels, and Coyote.
But Nature still finds me and I always find her—always in my soul.