Leaves And Trees…

The wind’s eerie howl echoes through the desolate streets, slipping through the cold gaps between crumbling bricks and worn mortar. Nature abhors emptiness, a truth that has held since the dawn of time. A Walker’s sandal strap hangs loosely on the right side of his footwear, worn down and broken from years of use, emitting a soft flapping noise with each step. Above, unseen bombers zoom past, their deafening roar fading into the distance as they unleash their fury. Broken statues lie scattered throughout the abandoned park, where once lively mimes performed with purpose and grace, now lost to the sands of time.

Unique trees are unlike any other, with smooth chrome-like bark that is incredibly durable. Standing at towering heights of one thousand feet and widths of up to two hundred feet, these trees can never be destroyed. They can change colors individually, and some believe that this is how they communicate with one another.

Machine-made boxes arrive, harmonious in the minds of those alike or different, swirling and giggling as they break apart into solitude within the bustling crowd. Bridges connect fleeting moments in the absence of time. We seek connection and discover flavor in shared experiences, intimacy found in the flow of rhythm and rhyme. Touches may resonate deeply within the intricate structure of language, where echoes linger in the formalities of communication. The poet weaves tales, capturing the struggles and personal anguish of the outcast, the touch of creativity that can be perplexing.

Creation smiles as life comes and goes without road signs or interstate noise. Twilight and dawn, departure gates swirling through go-to spaces between here and there, to hear, fear, find, die, or live again in places without time. Ecliptic twirls through galaxies where composite forms appear and disappear, where Ophiuchus stands above the sun, wide and planetary, from brim to rim and back again.

Our nature runs with or from the many or the few, often seen through curved ceilings of doorways where curved light enters through twenty-one windows. More spirit than body, ruled by doubt or satisfaction, the self ends in time without reason except for a rhythm to complete. We are the daughters and sons of earth and the starry skies, living a simple and true history, despite suppression or fear. We are the eternity of spirits, never beginning and never ending.

As the circle closes and the web builds, the markers of old and new builders guide us, folded into original shape until needed and opened to be followed across the sky bridge. Bang, bang-bang, and the games begin again. This loving rhyme leads us through time, rewinding as we breathe, while hoping for more.

Far from ‘Rebecca Bends City‘, beyond the Calimesa Sea and the sea wall, there are people who worship steel trees. They are known as charm collectors, gathering the colorful leaves that fall from the chrome branches. These leaves are heavy slabs of indestructible fashion.

And! Beautiful you are…

“Little Red Corvette” by Prince