the grassy part line disappears up ahead, before the cliff
Grassy Trail [Haiku]
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workers cross
the silver-gray river;
heads log-laden

the prayer wheels
have all gone still, but for
the last squeaking one
I stand before a horseshoe canyon, and it feels like the world has folded back upon itself. And I sort of like that idea. There's too much emphasis on progress, so maybe we need pockets of regress. Not a full fusion blast of regression. No one's calling for being battered back to the stone age. Maybe, it'd just be nice to escape the clarity of the watercourse way. To be in the kind of place where one has to drop a leaf to know which way the waters flow.
Looking out the car's rear window, I saw a strange and alien sky, and wondered where I was, and whether I was still somewhere that I would - elsewise - recognize, and - if not - whether I could get back, and whether I would want to go back. I saw a strange and alien sky, and did not look to see the ground.