Leaden rain brings a song of frogs. Diverging cirrus paths in a cellulite-pocked sky. Feet too heavy with sin to ascend and follow. Deep in the evening, the second death of a long-dead oak. Gnarled limbs akimbo, trunk felled from disinterest and torrents. A small cairn growing larger with every pilgrimage of inches. Skunks wet from dead grass frolicking in tamped fields. The distant white noise of sighing leaves becomes a definitive murmur. Ten years scattered namelessly, like salt across an aging and unfallow field.
3:58 p.m. - 2021-10-28
Recent entries:
Five Musings - 2021-11-12
As Since Always - 2021-11-04
Return to Capricious Consideration - 2021-11-04
Irrelevant Entropic Overload - 2021-11-04
Because, Instead Of Rather-Than - 2021-10-28
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