Details
Sculpting Cloud Shadows
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10,99 € |
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| Verlag: | Page Publishing Inc |
| Format: | EPUB |
| Veröffentl.: | 28.07.2021 |
| ISBN/EAN: | 9781662434914 |
| Sprache: | englisch |
| Anzahl Seiten: | 88 |
DRM-geschütztes eBook, Sie benötigen z.B. Adobe Digital Editions und eine Adobe ID zum Lesen.
Beschreibungen
Sculpting cloud shadows or any shadow is not possible. Shadows can be manipulated and changed somewhat by the texture they fall on, be it flat and smooth or jagged, sharp and hilly.
Clouds are somewhat like people, like the world. They have shape and form but are constantly changing. You can’t rely on them to be there when needed; and sometime they just show up at the wrong time. They are real but like a ghost can dissipate and disappear. Clouds are like life itself; you can’t hold onto it, only chase it’s shadow.
Poem excerpts-
You can’t eat it, taste it, smell it or hear it.
You can’t store it on a shelf to use it later.
Good vision will help but sometime a blind man can see it.
You can’t buy it, bank it, sell it or rent it, it is free.
It’s worth is un-measurable, without it there is no you or me.
Behind the calendar and behind the clock,
one step ahead of the dawn,
behind your back, time frolics on.
I can’t live in the past. I can’t dwell in a place that dissipated like the morning mist. Yet I must carry the past with me, like a heavy anchor holding me back.
Clouds are somewhat like people, like the world. They have shape and form but are constantly changing. You can’t rely on them to be there when needed; and sometime they just show up at the wrong time. They are real but like a ghost can dissipate and disappear. Clouds are like life itself; you can’t hold onto it, only chase it’s shadow.
Poem excerpts-
You can’t eat it, taste it, smell it or hear it.
You can’t store it on a shelf to use it later.
Good vision will help but sometime a blind man can see it.
You can’t buy it, bank it, sell it or rent it, it is free.
It’s worth is un-measurable, without it there is no you or me.
Behind the calendar and behind the clock,
one step ahead of the dawn,
behind your back, time frolics on.
I can’t live in the past. I can’t dwell in a place that dissipated like the morning mist. Yet I must carry the past with me, like a heavy anchor holding me back.
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