moving

the world is in motion. it’s moving to a different place in its 365 cycle. for us this movement means change. I would not want to exist only in summer underneath a golden eye that has no parallel. never closing. only obscured by a cold satellite that exerts its own force over tide and mood. i revel in the goose gossamer fog that hinges the blue of sky. swinging in and out like a door that leads into a house that sun built. glorious cool breeze. that disembowels the summer and drapes its cold body across the sky with not even horse fly’s reckoning to take hold. the world is wondrous. its inhabitants deep and confusingly fickle. an amalgam of love and fear. what is fed most leads the way.

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