The Bluestems are Blowing
and you are in a very warm memory. Eveything is about to change but you do not know it yet
It is not always a very long moment—that’s the problem. To be touched by life, the immediate moment its slender fingers push you into a new understanding, is often a short gesture. Strange, really, how it is. The long shadows of a single rock along the blacktop stretch as the sun flattens against the horizon that is, to me, the way those things go. The tiny blemish and its long ripple against your world, its longevity is sometimes unfathomable. The way from nothing really the sound of the bluestems along the road blow in the new cold of spring just to strike you and an aura bleeds into the eyes until it fills the frame and then some.
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