The delete button in the sky or pen marks on my lens or divine chopsticks ! These are in reality two aircrafts whizzing like metors on the Californian skyline.

The way I look at it: this is the intersection of lives that never really met. Lines of life. Infinte by origin, and never really end. Just moving on, like tireless rivers, giving life. Never stopping but always moving, appearing as serpents on the maps, with the definite purpose of a traveller. In a way these lines look like they will meet again on one final horizon, when the sky will be a canvas to imagination. The spinal cord twists of the moutain look on in the armchair of time, watching it all go by.