Nicole Page-Smith, photographs
God and the wind, fly
Wind oh windy, trees, the leaves shine and face upwards, oh windy, windy, tree. Thrashing in a gale, trees blow around and knock against the house. The doors blow open and then slam shut and you feel glad to be inside. Abandoned on the lonely, windy, island, birds call their home, trees and forests tend too flourish. Vines and creepers crawling over abandoned buildings, taking all back to nature, the trees are oblivious and keep blowing in the wind. Trees, trees and the birds, nature, trees being left for the birds and wind as though people did not ever exist for them. Birds tell you so.
Walking in the forest, the birds, flitter through and you catch glimpses of their wings in the light. The odd feather drops to the forest floor. Ancient is the forest and you are made to wonder what existed before nature, trees and animals, the wind rushes through.
Flying, flying with the birds, your wings catch the light, are you a bird? God and the wind, fly.