rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


The day is balanced perfectly. Balmy, the dry air still, the trees still, the song of birds still. There is an expectancy in summer's decline; the inevitable passing of days toward autumn. But at these moments, when the silence falls over everything, it seems as though days such as this always were, and always will be. Cloudless sky, shadowed lawn, leaf undropped, breath undiminished, consciousness immortal; world without end.

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