True night is elaborate and vented. Such the stars, the wind from west or east, greening dim of trees. In the morning, tides of blue pull breath and eyes. We are in the centre of the outward upward or trying to decide. Not every blink contains a lifetime but woods in wild make seasons change. Today is the only day to say today. Otherwise, resistance stops the ball.
It begins with a scanning of light, a settlement of words. The lightly fracture of Bird sound begins in the office of seeing. Not sentiment but sense, as cool as Green in the Early days. Pasture resists nonpasture, no one Refers to none. All remains including nothing. Morning Is belief and there simply there. Tides go freshly to the point.
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