rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Making up for time yet to be lost

The prospect of shrinking days to come has sent me out, away from the world of words to the outdoors and the placid afternoon. At the edge of town, the forest running down to the river is wrapped in an ineffable quiet; the pines perfectly still, the dirt road empty, the hawk passing above as silent as his shadow sweeping by at my feet. The houses at my back and all they entail vanish from my thoughts, and I am drawn by my gaze into that far larger and more ancient world where time itself is transfixed. More than words lie in such a scene and moment, and such will always be more than will ever lie in words.

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