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I find myself again performing the ritual of changes at the clotting edge of sunset, where shadows slip silent through reeds and brackish waters, thick with primordial mist. The sky blazes indigo, fades to ochre, to umber— and then to that dreamless, colorless hue nightfall stretches across the horizon, serene as a young god in asana. A delta of sandhill cranes rises overhead, their bugling, sharp, piercing the rugged dusk— autumnal, deep, woven from ten thousand shades of mauve, gunmetal, plum. One older bird lingers behind the flock, his scarlet brow an open wound glimmering against the vermilion cut of sky. He glides, unhurried, in perfect silence. Listening to their ragged calls, I feel my body dissolve into the trembling stillness, brilliant, vast, time herself, exhales.
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Oct 22, 2024
Oct 22, 2024 at 6:21 PM UTC
The Crane
I find myself again performing the ritual of changes at the clotting edge of sunset, where shadows slip silent through reeds and brackish waters, thick with primordial mist. The sky blazes indigo, fades to ochre, to umber— and then to that dreamless, colorless hue nightfall stretches across the horizon, serene as a young god in asana. A delta of sandhill cranes rises overhead, their bugling, sharp, piercing the rugged dusk— autumnal, deep, woven from ten thousand shades of mauve, gunmetal, plum. One older bird lingers behind the flock, his scarlet brow an open wound glimmering against the vermilion cut of sky. He glides, unhurried, in perfect silence. Listening to their ragged calls, I feel my body dissolve into the trembling stillness, brilliant, vast, time herself, exhales.
Written by
M/North America
Oct 22, 2024
Oct 22, 2024 at 6:21 PM UTC
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