So precise, so imprecise, this witness, this being alive. Even with a new year the moon continues. I stand beneath her as she sways toward full. Born of rocks, trees, and rivers, we share mother and father. The water at my feet is black, cold as our motives, quiet, and belligerent as the season allows. Deep breath and miss engulfs conscious thought. Lo! I am a long ways from home, from the manmade comforts of city, her fingers a twined, paradoxical set. Light and camera and traffic and the quiet slip of evening as you move out and across her with the eternal respects afforded a new lover are creations legible purposes.