Consciousness unfurls like a morning fog, curling and twisting around the jagged edges of thought— what is time but a dance of particles weaving through the void?
Listen, listen, the trees murmur ancient secrets in a language long forgotten, crumbling and rebirthing beneath the whispers of transient winds— the pulse of existence throbs in syncopated rhythms, chasing its own tail, spiraling inward toward an empty epiphany.
Roots grasp at the soil, fingers of a child desperate for a forgotten embrace, and the leaves—oh the leaves!—they flutter like a thousand unsaid goodbyes, stitching the air with murmurs of hope, despair, a lunatic’s lullaby that echoes deep, deeper still.
a breath / dialogue in the dark / clockwork pigeons
Embrace the dance, for tomorrow is a phantom sight, lurking just beyond the tangible, veering off course into the vast unreachable, a kaleidoscope of moments breaking apart.
And you, dear reader, are the eye they turn toward, the silent witness to their sacred ceremony—a masquerade of thought and nature entwined.