memories of recent and undocumented interactions with rainbows. dredging up a spectral wonder committed to film at the God’s Falls in North Ice land. and this text composed some months back on the back deck of a house no longer lived in:
what sight of rainbow gives full and transitory is not the will to wake up the next morning, it’s just late afternoon, well before sunset. lightning strikes the house. the radio quits. do the dead feel the hissing crack of close lightning like the living do? a bit of dread, a bit of shaken body wonder?
rainbow gives nothing except the radiation to brush the eyes. but in that brilliant subtlety there is everything. the smell of rain soaked earth and sage, cedar and piñon. when it is leaving. gone. all is gone, even memory of persistence of vision an illusion. after all, memory is imprint of the primal mind leaving the moment. rainbow gives only memories of itself, written in state-shifted electric bodies.