Straight lines are man-made, and they are all around us. 

If you’ve followed my blog or know me at all, I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that I see myself as a Nature Girl.  I don’t do Man-Made stuff if at all possible; I don’t seek it out, I don’t photograph it, I don’t buy it.  But of course, that’s a delusion, really.  I live in a house built with right angles, and I sell books which are usually rectangular.  I am surrounded; I had best make peace with angles.  Sharp, rigid, dogmatic angles.  Plumb-lines and cages. 

* peace *

(Wow, I can be judgmental.) Okay, horizons and vanishing points, inclines and steps.  I don’t know if I will ever call them “beautiful”, but I can see that they are useful and interesting. 

I glance out my window and see feathery frost, reminding me that snowflakes and crystals are made of straight angles.  And my ego is made up of attachments and aversions. 

* peace *