Waves of potentialities collapsing, bundles of imperturbable criticalities. Placid animal urges. Pastward convergences.
Frogs croak at the edge of the pond, as catfish soak in the deep, near the green meadow carpeted with grass, trees cloaked in velvety moss.
What is the destiny of Luna’s offspring?
In a gradualist creeping way its possible to know a lot and still be unable to draw a conclusion.
The deer watches frozen in place ears facing, curious yet wary. Black birds land in a shrub near the horizon, dark dots flopping, then settling, gossiping in bird talk.
What is the destiny of Sun worshippers?
Each day has similar actions. Rituals to ward off temporal progression fail to remove particulars, simply polishing them. Each day is a new adventure. Nothing ever repeats.
Our story goes on for a while a few genes, a few words persist for a while then off we go. Nothing ever repeats.
Desert Dweller 