Trancing along an endless stretch of asphalt underneath the molten orb in the sky, she contemplated the mechanics of continuity. Each mile whispered stories left behind, coated in the myths of travelers past. Somewhere, in the curls of smoke emanating from her motorcycle, a labyrinth of roads unveiled itself; not a destination, but an assertion of being wonderful encompassed the space behind and beyond sight. The sky shifted; promises mirrored the consequent uncertainties—each horizon a threshold, a segmentation of time into digestible realities, pervasive cycles. The hum of the machine seemed to synchronize with the beating pulse of the earth, coaxing a comprehension borne from places wedged between consciousness and void. Roads wound wickedly through her thoughts like memories unfurling the confines of structuring order. Does the narrative simply repeat? Or does she write unperceived paths as she drifts further into these intersections abstract? Inquire the Horizon
Fractal Tracery