“comparable to the sun & moon, rainbow & flood”

design language enduring crowd transcends the day unbending rusted climate camera sunblind memory focused solely

something was waiting lost, outnumbered quiet stars briefly dawning golden pool conquer slower onward

Our eyes are different colors, seeing separate shades of sky, shapes of clouds, stars that turned to dust before we were born, before our blood had veins to hold it; we have no true home – no hovel, no hut. We scour fields for soft grass, for thickets of sleep. We are seeds seeking shallow beds. There are those that hunt for us, catch our scent, our glint in sun or moonlight, our hues glowing. When the temperature is right, we bloom & heave heavy breaths. Sharp eyes pierce through moss & fireweed. Fingers, paws & claws all outstretch toward us. Short tongues envelop us. By the time we drift onto soft peat beds, we have no lungs left, no breath to imagine. We can only communicate through temperatures, shades of red or blue, mostly blue. Blue & white prevailed across taiga. They claimed most any layers of green or brown that might sleep beneath, any more – pale shadows hushed by frost. “This isn't working,” some say, “the soil is all wrong.” All wrong – as if it will never change. Two centuries from now, we will blossom, bursting with ripe juice: we will be working. “the long & cold winter is the dominant feature.” Even if this is true, there are fires that burn for hundreds of years, swallowing forests whole, not raging, but breathing slowly, deeply, for decades, before falling asleep.

Quarks & leptons cough up dust. They choke themselves; light is born. As day digests night, heat radiates, filtered through loose leaves onto beds of spores bursting, spiral strands sifting across vast valleys of untouched air, void of lips & lungs having ever breathed any measure Aggregated drupelets shine through boreal backscattered light: tired, lost, scared; simple, solemn: just as night & day never truly end, only rotate – spheres tumbling in concentric ellipses through countless measures of time, waiting to collide, crumble, fully deconstruct into fragments & gravitate elsewhere – so too do seasons perpetuate, perennial, rolling across land mass without ever waning, only crawling elsewhere.