Of course, like any piece of art, without the maker standing along side of the piece, the work is forever open to interpretation…
But at the moment, I am here and I’m going to speak what this means to me.
It’s autobiographical.
As of late, more often than not, I feel very much like an old rooster. That grumpy old cock, strutting around, preening to prove my worth in an effort to avoid the ax of the master of the barnyard… Chasing the lone firefly across the night. Like Love, as we chase it, it sneaks up from behind.
Who’s chasing who?
Nothing too deep, but I do enjoy the way I makes me feel when I look at it though.
I know that in the story that’s in my head, it’s the FireFly that caught the Cock.
Zygote Blum 