.
truth at -80 kph
this Sunday morning slowly seeps
through lids like wet yellow ochre
on Arches, like Giacometti into
Satie; nothing compares. in this
undying season, occassional red
traces green and is seen through
warm air. October at 26•C is
surreal in this northern space.
but the skies are alive and
teeming with migrants who
hang on the wind, make their
wing-ed way through high wire
flights that nobody sees and
nobody hears despite the
unending grey of lake-into-sky,
and nothing distracts from
this upside down day like
sweet green pepper air that
smells musty and wet, like
something is coming. smells
a little like change.
posted by name of the rose at 10:03 a.m.
2 Comments:
Yes, smells a little like change, indeed. Outstanding moment and one I wholly feel.
I stumbled onto your blog while researching certain terms on the internet. i wanted to call my latest post "allatonceness" and see that you had done the same, a few years out. i will therefore change mt title to honor you for what you wrote and continue to write is very interesting to me and well said, too. i write a blog called infinity report and other stuff as well you can find it at:
infinityreport.blogspot.com
bye for now.
rc
Post a Comment
<< Home