Sunday, August 05, 2007


Scattered thoughts, and a cool breeze to cool the perspiring neck. Cacophony of branches and roots; tangle of stalks and grasses. Leaning backwards, leaning in, seeking the cool shade. The bee flits from dry leaf to dry leaf, finding no relief.

Weary mind, weary soul, smell of burning wood. And little popping sounds about, and slow-walking people, and resonant bass notes from a faraway drum. Strong, pungent air, smell of stiff stalks, scent of wheat. Smell of sky and leaf, of cloud and twig, birdsong and thunder.

Wild song of a dying bird, ecstatic in its dying. Wild gaze of a hunter sighting his prey, heart arrhythmically pounding, the gaze that sees not, the mind from which reason is absent, the animal impulse that will not be sated. Against the sun, the skin of the neck



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