Mountain has been pressed intro action, different from hill. You know Hill, a ripple under glacial instigation, such memories and tales. Hill realizes a day or so, nothing so human as eternity. And there you are, maybe out of breath, and not nearly grand. You still must think of pace. I seem to linger, says Mountain. Mountains include a center, pointed fire, vital tree, aspirational rock, cloud cover, the vista on the eye, and length of time. Everything present has been made before. Artful volcanoes in the quick of the eye, but anyway, just showing off for the elements. Mountains talk too much, with beastly clouds and riverine plans. Get to know them like a bear. You might find that thing that awaits.
The work becomes chiding of sunlight. The work is elegy and shaded. The principle ciphers as a god, in the way transience is purpose. Transience works this brief, ending fields, making trees concern. The hell of halting midway identifies the work of burning thru. Forever makes a sign. Sign makes worthy. Indeed the tramp of feet forward concludes any sentences but suggests more. Long sentences, stupid words. The caroling heard by Dante, brilliantine remorse for a better tide. The long road up from down, and turned around. The work then becomes the work now, as stained glass similitude. Anxious in the class structure of catastrophe, the baying song over all. Nothing to do but be done. Ruskin gave you papers to remind you. Slow battering concedes the earth in time. Time being functional and oblique. The worker inside sees the nation by exhalation. Transitive connection sports of culture. The class that ends becomes the class that begins, both left and right.
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