Sunday, April 17, 2011

ᎠᏂᎦᏴᎵ

Ꭷ new to me

It whistles and moans, stings and seeps into the joints and strikes like lightning against steel. A tang of metal in my teeth.

This is new too me. Comfort is slow undulating throbbing heat. Plodding rhythmic pattens rolling and waving. Creaking time swollen hand hewn floor timbers.

As once vibrant and volatile dark puffy clouds thin and slowly slide to silver trails the earthen walls lose their vertical reaching and slip, the integrity of the body fades. Dancing green bows and leans its crown down to brown.

They say it's not time that fades us but the marching progression of copy and replication. Cycles of renewal that cannot start anew but can only clean up the branches. Dry and dead.

Prune the limbs.

ᎣᏏᏳ
ᎠᏯ  ᏩᏕ ᎦᎵᏍᎨᏫ ᏥᎪᏪᎸᎦ

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