Floating feathers of light shoot through towering canopies

that whisper tales of centuries long since passed.

Who are we among these ancient trees?

We are these moments in time,

isolated and extended, flowing out over the expansive spaces below.

Stranded by choice and humbled. Feeling the hollow, heavy bark in the

shadow of a giant drawing nutrients from the soil.

I am the forest floor. Lit by filtered beams of gold as if projected from

35mm film that's riddled with mold. Rich and organic, impressionistic and soft.

You are drunk on beauty, eyes closed but mind open, hanging from a

branch that towers above. Your limbs are rubber,

heart full and filling up more with feeling.

Can't help bathing, breathing, waking;

getting wasted and windswept in the wild of our great beyond.

Your silhouette is painted on my face.

Are you ready to let go?

Falling faster with abandon,

we are alive with the splendor spilling out over peaks,

our colors playing tricks on monuments of chiseled stone.

Can you hear the river flowing?

An ancient blood through the valley bringing life and sprouting meadows

as it erodes through layers of rock that once flowed just as freely.

How different it must have been, all molten-hot and crimson.

I can feel the heat on my face, a blast from the setting sun.

I see you, standing close to the edge and listening

to voices once echoed across these canyons

as a call for you to come home. And you listen.

California has you, crystalized and preserved

in the amber light of its primeval kingdom.

I watch you shed the curious contradictions of the city

like a chrysalis to spread your wings and return to your core.

We float along smooth pavement, serpentine and etched

all black and shining in the surreal slant of our temporary homeland.

Melodies merge with twilight torrents of fresh air forming in the cockpit of the car.

Now, in our silver vessel reflecting back the hues of the hills

before we disappear; we look back at what we had to ourselves

all alone in that blissful oblivion behind us.

The fading light of the West, still glowing within,

sets our compass to an oasis of beginnings,

of untethered innocence and surrendered senses.

It was temporary then but grows more tangible everyday.

Guiding us back in the image of the past, the projection of the future,

always alive and growing larger like the trees that never die but only topple

to support the growth of new life, is our minds in memory of the tent,

the creek, the river and the peak. The canyon, the song, the fire and the grove.

So off we go, always wandering and wanting, never finished but always full,

back through the darkness and over obstacles new and old, back to our

home outside in the forest, back to the home we have within.

Text by Anthony Trapanese

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A Time-traveling Story

Navigating New Pathways.

Sound & Color

of a life once lived.

Event concept shoot

to die before death.