While autumn sidles on impending deadlines hiss in the slippery byways of crammed days and insensate nights sounding silence. But beyond my cage trees yawn in fog and breezes whistle by the jagged teeth of leaves. No sight of sky sneaks through the canopy of those vein-dead frenzies, crisp and soon-falling. Blood-burrows in the sky, distant prisoned hills. Licked rock resides beneath swift running of water’s caress. Sparking light flicks in the meeting of moisture and air. Soft breezes. Soft grass.
Now hear the the silence, the echoing ways where wends the wind over the holy mountain wholly sheer and ragged, barring no feeble heaven, but rather puncturing the skin of night to greet encumbered stars. If beneath these ways of the webbed universe’s twirling, if over the molten core on which we prance, if by rainway and leafpath and snowscuttle we may follow, then follow oh follow. May the musk of sky and the riot of perishing leaves, may that ineffable scent conjuring a hundred days of autumnal perfection, may all the inexpressible beauty of the world puncture the dull routine, annihilate the false conundrums and silly considerations concealing crystalline depths of life.
Now hear the the silence, the echoing ways where wends the wind over the holy mountain wholly sheer and ragged, barring no feeble heaven, but rather puncturing the skin of night to greet encumbered stars. If beneath these ways of the webbed universe’s twirling, if over the molten core on which we prance, if by rainway and leafpath and snowscuttle we may follow, then follow oh follow. May the musk of sky and the riot of perishing leaves, may that ineffable scent conjuring a hundred days of autumnal perfection, may all the inexpressible beauty of the world puncture the dull routine, annihilate the false conundrums and silly considerations concealing crystalline depths of life.
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