When we say we see with twenty twenty vision , we are only aware of   half our world.

In all the years before our experience I would never have guessed, sitting in a field or wandering through the woods, who and what watched me. I had no idea as I knelt to idly scoop a handful of dry soil, and watched as the wind blew it powder like from my palm. In the tall dry stalks of dead  grass , something very alive was witness.

look closely below my ear to the left is a childs head cradled in hands the ear is facing us, it has a leathery appearance and there may be a face above them semi hidden in the shadows.

Within walls of trees and brush, and paths, there was more than just eyes marking my passing,  curious at something they silently read in me.   Long after all the posturing of youth has faded I’m sure, in some mind so alien that defies understanding , yet one almost comforting in its familiarity,the bold play of a boy still echoes humorously.

I sense that, possibly when cars and apartments, and schedules came to claim me, they missed the soft padding of my feet and panting of breath that signaled the exit from my world and my unknown entrance into theirs.    Earth, air, fire, and water are not just the stuff our world is made of,  but the surface and sustenance of theirs as well, a beautiful  playground crafted, not only the new kids on the block struggling for ages  still trying to escape puberty, but those as well with an older claim,who could see the magic ,the life  in each pebble and vine.

I would never have guessed that the viewable  past was reflected, not in cold, flat recorded ghosts scenes forever sentenced to replaying themselves for those able to see, but instead in the form of countless beings who only rest silently, denying us their presence, their communication because they are in their hollow eyes and the short memories of men long forgotten.  Souls waiting to be remembered acknowledged once again.

I would not have realized the sky was alive  not only with the microscopic organisms that enter us with each breath, but with beings far more skilled than the Chameleon, in their secretive existence. Countenances inscrutable, their brief moments on film are a mystery that only they, in their time, will allow us closure or solution to.  We can only hope we are prepared  for whatever likelihood the moment  brings.

As among our own society they have their monsters. This you can be sure of,  but also the pleading in their retched state can be mistaken.  Some may bear tools of destruction while  others may carry a lifeless child or the agony of a love stilled within their hearts in its youth.  It may be that we are closer to them than we think, that they are not beyond humor or compassion.

What of those that are captured in almost cartoon character like playfulness, that press their frolic through the leaves and into the cameras face, showing us possibly that there is not only the thinnest of veils between the formal boundaries, and our limits,  but similar motivations that  press them as well into action.  Since this study began, my beliefs have not narrowed but grown, and in acceptance I see the hand of God, not hidden but predominant in it all.    If in such a short time we’ve learned so much, what wonders still lie ahead?