Declared to be the home of the ants,
the barn was, also, shared by the dogs
and the big lizards who stored
formidable teeth opposite the nipping
mandibles. Each moment the favorite
spaces became temples traversed by
wandering dotted lines while,
certainly, a pause to clean the claws
gave time for articles of memory. Attire
provided a music festival to brighten the
warm days with delicate sounds within
dark recesses where chilly dust filtered
the beams to secure the rafters. Along
these trails, the plight was relieved; the
threat was removed to slumber waiting
for a wind swept rush of fur. Pulling
the shutters back from the eyes, the
working specks of the ants proclaimed
their choices and followed these
implications into predicaments leading
them to be wise. The influence
demonstrated the passing of lives into
praise for the correct answers by which
the ways advanced to persist. There was
plenty of empty, sweet time hovering
above their heads yet leaving them
impatient to see a transpired eternity,
gathered in a massive tribe, ready to
explore the encroaching season with its
microscopic grasses and piles of stone.
As an institution, the old, red building
weathered its boards in the valley,
forgotten by more pragmatic industries
in cans and bottles of plastic. To wear
the collar of the ant or the lizard was a
rare honor not granted in the homes
of many house wives. It was as rare as
gold to find lodging with the fascinating
mercy of the human outlook. It was a
great deal of trouble to look after these
others, small or large as they might be.
Seemingly, it was difficult to explain the
logic intended to regulate the wild,
independent lives, and, as they were
misguided, an anger tended to drive them
closer rather than away. Under the skin,
it was very close to an intolerable form of
humor, but what explained itself as being
very funny also remained the hostility
alienated and inevitable, like the slamming
horns of the sheep and goats, like the poetry
of the birds and the herds.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 7:46 PM UTC
Declared to be the home of the ants,
the barn was, also, shared by the dogs
and the big lizards who stored
formidable teeth opposite the nipping
mandibles. Each moment the favorite
spaces became temples traversed by
wandering dotted lines while,
certainly, a pause to clean the claws
gave time for articles of memory. Attire
provided a music festival to brighten the
warm days with delicate sounds within
dark recesses where chilly dust filtered
the beams to secure the rafters. Along
these trails, the plight was relieved; the
threat was removed to slumber waiting
for a wind swept rush of fur. Pulling
the shutters back from the eyes, the
working specks of the ants proclaimed
their choices and followed these
implications into predicaments leading
them to be wise. The influence
demonstrated the passing of lives into
praise for the correct answers by which
the ways advanced to persist. There was
plenty of empty, sweet time hovering
above their heads yet leaving them
impatient to see a transpired eternity,
gathered in a massive tribe, ready to
explore the encroaching season with its
microscopic grasses and piles of stone.
As an institution, the old, red building
weathered its boards in the valley,
forgotten by more pragmatic industries
in cans and bottles of plastic. To wear
the collar of the ant or the lizard was a
rare honor not granted in the homes
of many house wives. It was as rare as
gold to find lodging with the fascinating
mercy of the human outlook. It was a
great deal of trouble to look after these
others, small or large as they might be.
Seemingly, it was difficult to explain the
logic intended to regulate the wild,
independent lives, and, as they were
misguided, an anger tended to drive them
closer rather than away. Under the skin,
it was very close to an intolerable form of
humor, but what explained itself as being
very funny also remained the hostility
alienated and inevitable, like the slamming
horns of the sheep and goats, like the poetry
of the birds and the herds.
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