I can hardly see the stars anymore past all the airplanes.
I remember just last night I mistook a satellite for a meteor…
You believe you’re seeing something extraordinary when it’s actually a trick of the eye bestowed upon you by your own kind; therefore, they are tricking your mind.
If seeing is believing then we’ve all been deceiving with each flick of the tongue and each strain of our lips.
It’s like the sky is viewed now in strips, and the seasons come in drips. I long for those aesthetic drops.
If my fingers could brush the treetops and whirl them into a braid of branches, twigs, and leaves. See the pine needles thread and weave.
The forest would shiver down into its roots just as the barrel tremors once the hunter shoots. That spray of bullets moving faster than life.
It’s almost as though that hunter has trifled with time and Mother Nature’s clock. We’ve only got so many days left in stock. And I can see now how that’s so difficult to conceive.
The end is that painful reality we all would rather not believe.