by Jason Anders
The image of snow blowing off the mountain seems to jump right out and speak to me. The past blows away like that to reveal a hidden rock face.
Vistas greater than a camera eye, I invoke my memory lens. I invoke the part of me captured in each past moment, the one I can still see on the other side of the world.
The snow blows off the surface of the mountain, and I feel like a part of me is blowing away with it. I listen to hear myself in the past. As the past unravels like bandage coils from a mummy, I can feel it.
