The bronze goblin rides the world. Its wide eyes always open, taking in everything that happens on the street: brisk business-like strides of mid-morning, mid-day strolls, slumped evening plods, midnight staggers, and witching hour stumbles. It sees you when you're meeting, and knows when it's legit.
in the forest -- the forestless forest -- planted by hand
The gothic cathedral is dark -- unilluminated, but for the flickering orange flames of votive candles, and the weak winter light of a gloomy December day that warms the panels of stained glass. A pew creaks. A tiny movement makes a giant sound, owing to the stony acoustics. The pew is creaking from the restless fidgeting of the church's sole occupant.
Vines crawl along the wall -- an organism in sprawl. Their leaves turn red, arterial at the ends, venous in late Fall.
autumn afternoon. the sun penetrates deeply, feeding the grass
the forest road is cleared of leaf litter by speeding cars
the setting sun makes a fireball of a low bank of clouds
saffron-tinged leaves languidly wobble to mimic the dance of flame
sibling globe thistles.
one: all thistle; the other:
all flowers
Tiger Riding for Beginners 