Baby Benny Wildfire

A musical visual linguistic inferno cultivated in the Niagara Escarpment. Many hear the fire crackling, but few ever smell it's smoke, or see it in action, for it is so very tiny, and only occurs in the crevasses.

The speechless reality of the screens was overlooked.

A relationship not primarily with fellow viewers,

but with the technology;

conduit held closer than content.

Yellow marked trails muddled by various footwear,

speechless, yes,

but as speechless as an all encompassing embrace.

Foliage from any angle,

with roots that grew at a frame rate slow enough not to bind your feet,

and fast enough to walk over;

giving each step leverage.

The white cedar’s will teach you pacing.