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
tiny mushrooms
rise from damp pine needles
on straight, stiff stalks
How much grander must the world seem
closer to the ground,
a grass forest within the forest
with layered forest sounds?
Or would one be cut off from
the vaulted dome of sky,
and have one’s world shrink to
the limits of one’s eye?
If an ant thought it saw everything,
but only viewed a slice,
would its tiny ant mind have contracted a basic human vice?
Tiger Riding for Beginners 