Harnett-Hargrove

8 • Don’t move my constant. 

The solstice Maine heavens were held completely crisp + still, untroubled by electromagnetic waves. In the dead of night, a startling subatomic rumble echos through the dark, ending w/ a clutching the inside your throat. In forest blackness there lurks a claustrophobic dread. A rabbit cries for its life + looses. When all is quiet again the silence is ten times as deep + opaque. 

Field stones that were sled over decades ago became the low walls that are boundaries, trails + points. i believed through some keen higher power a mystery could be solved by backing up, up + away one could behold an epiphany in the stone lines created by the walls. With just the right aerial view some gigantic cryptic message would make known the secrets we have been asking for millennium.

     

Stalwart midnight treks revealed the snow turning silver under the spherical spotlight. The luster ricocheted through the bare trees, making birch shine. Surroundings became silhouettes plunged into the inky blackness. i imagined each soul down to the tiniest critter opening one eye as my shoe popped + crunched passed. Then closing slowly, feeling no threat.

     

i became mindful of the night sky while living in Damariscotta. Northern lights are big theater. The heavens shifted into their familiar winter pattern, sitting still long enough you'd be rewarded w/ a shooting star. i had won the a prize at the end of the day when i felt complete by looking up, + getting lost in the vertigo. 

     

When your choices are limited completeness is simple.

jahh / Script for a practicing artist + an unfinished life.