Wheel
by NikonJeb

Comment:
Somebody's paying attention to his/her wheels! That's a good thing. And handsome wheels they are.

Something fishy?
by PenelopeK

Comment:
It's a mystery. It's an enigma. Just like you, if I may be so sly :-) Mwah!

this ocean is some spicy leather
by posthumous

Comment:
It's fundament(ally) prim(eval). That's my take on it :-)

misty 1
by tnun

Comment:
Poor Misty. I sense resignation all muddled up with hope. Very evocative image.

Untitled
by aznym

Comment:
The one pure face in the plaid shirt, upper center right! Lovely image!

Eddie's Sweet Shop
by streetpigeon

Comment:
Makes me feel curiously transparent. I don't like being exposed this way. Pay me no heed, I must be losing my marbles.

et sic incipit
by Bear_Music

Comment:
I actually wear the Crocs pretty much daily and a have had this pair over a year, but who's counting? More prosaically, my month of Square Images is just beginning :-)

moi
by Ecce_Signum

Comment:
It's an evolution. Or a devolution. Either works.

the future
by mariuca

Comment:
Senlin: His Futile Preoccupations by Conrad Aiken

1

I am a house, says Senlin, locked and darkened,
Sealed from the sun with wall and door and blind.
Summon me loudly, and you'll hear slow footsteps
Ring far and faint in the galleries of my mind.
You'll hear soft steps on an old and dusty stairway;
Peer darkly through some corner of a pane,
You'll see me with a faint light coming slowly,
Pausing above some gallery of the brain . . .

I am a city . . . In the blue light of evening
Wind wanders among my streets and makes them fair;
I am a room of rock . . . a maiden dances
Lifting her hands, tossing her golden hair.
She combs her hair, the room of rock is darkened,
She extends herself in me, and I am sleep.
It is my pride that starlight is above me;
I dream amid waves of air, my walls are deep.

I am a door . . . before me roils the darkness,
Behind me ring clear waves of sound and light.
Stand in the shadowy street outside, and listenĂ¢€”
The crying of violins assails the night . . .
My walls are deep, but the cries of music pierce them;
They shake with the sound of drums . . . yet it is strange
That I should know so little what means this music,
Hearing it always within me change and change.

Knock on the door,Ă¢€”and you shall have an answer.
Open the heavy walls to set me free,
And blow a horn to call me into the sunlight,Ă¢€”
And startled, then, what a strange thing you will see!
Nuns, murderers, and drunkards, saints and sinners,
Lover and dancing girl and sage and clown
Will laugh upon you, and you will find me nowhere.
I am a room, a house, a street, a town.

9193-web_dpc_sq
by SaraR

Comment:
Yes, definitely being warned off. Lovely light.