I like the people here, by the river: wood-roamers, quiet-seekers, seekers of quiet truths that need no explanation, hunters of oxygen and light and the late-rising brume, dog-walkers, gatherers of solace, birdwatchers - seekers of the trilling heart, vagrant explorers, yielders to the humming fullness, finders of quiet joy contained in greens and blues. no abstract brain space here, in the woods by the river; only organic matter, cells that divide and grow. a panoply of creatures that fill liminal spaces: some heavy, fatally rooted, some lithe and airborne, some tentatively treading between heaven and humus in this short time till, muted, the mineral conquers all.
some people gaze at stars, and meteors and comets. I like to gaze at people. not such a fundamental difference, I suppose. the former, like the latter: flashes across the void in search of an encounter only to be extinguished. and when you hear 'stardust', that's what they mean, you know.
Writer Between Worlds 