Rain rains, the winds taking your dreams into the leaden skies that they then might be poured out across this big, living earth! There is a humming – synonymous twinklings of time, space, temporal thought and smiles. All convene; lifting you from soggy soils that you might jet about both free and forgiven seems the most basic of their capacity, their fuel.
Phosphorescent thoughts lead you to heavens you didn’t quite know you possessed. Another drink, another breath, another bit of watching the moon rise through sketched, legitimate filters, of dead and dying pine. The light is naked. Surfaces are still. Sound has fallen to a frequency you can’t quite spin the dial to.
Days can be so easy, full of smiles that carry tan arms and legs ‘round and ‘round — the merry-go another pastel memory. Complaints number few. This chance to be is temporary as the season. I’ve no reason not to love. Somehow it surrounds [me]. Somehow what we’ve been handed remains in hand. Do tread lightly.
There is a dawn and I’ve just born myself as witness to it. Spruce that ride like birthday candles atop the ridge flame and flame and flame. To light them out is say that the dead, sifted ashes of night have once again been turned into the interminable brilliance of another heated day.
