A Bit of Goldsworthy and Adams – Monochromes in a Colourful Mind

The sun bears down through thick leaves on this dry day,

As I wander through a small suburban wood,

Looking for the fallen and desiccated trees,

That might emulate the land art of Goldsworthy.

I seek the signature of creative chaos,

The kind that only Mother Nature can deliver,

And as I walk, I feel the dry earth crunch,

Beneath my feet, like brittle bones in old leaves.

The trees around me stand tall and still,

Their leaves rustling softly in the gentle breeze,

But the fallen ones, they hold my fascination,

Their branches reaching everywhere in twisted configurations.

And as I approach, I see the intricate patterns,

Of nature’s own design, in the way they lay,

The angles and curves, the light and shadows,

Reminding me of Ansel Adams’ photographic magic.

Yet there’s something more to these twisted trunks,

The artistry of decay, the beauty in death,

And I can’t help but marvel at the work of time,

Creatively decomposing these trees into something new.

For in the midst of this dry, lifeless forrest floor,

Mother Nature brings forth her own imagination,

A testament to the power of her creative chaos,

And the beauty that can be found in destruction.