In general, I don't much like nature. It bothers me. All that wide open space. All those animals moving round. I like to live surrounded by dead things.
This photo is just over a month's old. It was taken in Queensland as I returned from the Mountain, and I took it because there was something about the bent telegraph poles that lined the road like old, disused scarecrows that appealed to me. It spoke of journey, point to point, of forcing yourself from one stop to the next, of always having to keep moving, of knowing that eventually you'll reach newer, brighter, fuller worlds. The lie of progress, I once heard said. Moving forward doesn't always take you to a better place. That's why there's nostalgia. Still, try telling that to the that bird in the middle, the traveler caught in a moment of digital reproduction, caught between two places, coming down to settle on the barb wire to pause, to gather breath, to think out its next move while hoping that nothing pierces it to draw blood.
Obviously, to stop me posting like this, I need my eyes gouged out. Send in beautiful women with spoons.