– The Living Earth –
I dig the soils of the distant dead that grow again to feed the living earth. I go down to where the ravens fly; Heart flutters like butterflies. I dive into pools of flowers; Lily white floating in greenwood growth, watching cotton clouds cast over rich wheat fields of golden sun. I walk to where the roadways end, where the beach bums hide in the bandshell slums. Down to the edge of the dock, to watch the time tick by on the roadhouse clock.
Standing there at the edge of the water, I watch the sun set beyond the edges of forever; I watch the end of the world, with crystal waves lapping gently at my feet, drawing me in to the vast expanse of open spaces. The ocean races head on head around the spit, colliding across the pebbled shores. I search the sands for shards of beach glass; Tokens of the realms that came before us, tokens of a further future mixed with relics of a brighter past.
I am drawn back again to city and chrome; Skyscrapers like trees of steel and stone, stretching up to meet the wavering horizon; Heat and smog in the snake of traffic, winding its way through the rush hour slow. We are shaping the world from our own history; Our modern entertainment industries like mechanical toys on a dusty basement shelf; Plastic ponies doing tricks for pennies.
Summer turns to white and snow, drifting like TV static against the pale grey sky. The greenwood falls away to ashes, all growth to wither back and die. In the flames of our history, in every turn of this living earth, I am seeking vital warmth. I am gazing up to the wide open sky, through deeper hues of blue on blue, as the sun casts my image in a crisp silhouette, crowns me with rays of vibrant gold that are never too strong for the brave. If there is still some light left in this life, I may yet find my way.