What effulgence doth hover and I thought last Sunday was the day. Today I'm the windshield and light is the bug. The air is locked, refracting it's wares on my tools and beckoning like a Siren on a sparkling waterfront, winking and smiling re-arranging my past.
I'm ready to withdraw my synapses from the over-charged influences of metropolia and immerse myself in the bounty of muted organisms and dappled shadows. The weather extremes serve as a reminder of the timeless quality of life or Otherwise and the futility of over-involvement in the world's funereal mass for solitude is the source of all wisdom, that for which I strive as concentric ripples on a pond in my midnight might strive; a constant coming and going, the past and the future co-mingling and enabling companionably in measured rhythms and silent communion.
To breathe the Present, to know the Future, to predict the Past and Divine the structure, essence, the fiber of Being. To put language to the muse, to see the machinations as a world in it's own globe of swirling wonderment and know as a distant star cluster knows, that which we are we can become and we have a choice between gods and cannibals and the quick and the dead are one and the same.
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