Forward down the line.

Shunning the light, walking forward. Down a strip, light from behind. Weird, isn't it? Light on the back, scorching summer sun. Yet, darkness ahead. Blocked by the mind, preoccupied - behind. Strained, it screams.

What's past is past, but what next?

Letting go isn't simply relaxing grip of your hand. It's more often than not in the mind. And ironiclly, the larger the subject, the more it seems to stick to your hand.