A grove realizes packed sanctity. Trees judged as trees not minions. Deity hidden in, in trees, in grove, in grounding. Deity as a matter of fact, like plunging thru clouds. But the eternal something, brown waves, green consistory, and waxy fabulists, proper to the moment. But wait, trees include groves as congregation. Gregarious albeit parsimonious grandeur laden, with leaf. The provocation. You have sacred things in mind, or an odd pine cone. The breeze voices trees. Language has been. Bunch of deities loll, the best you can imagine. But can your words carry trees? You may realize not just anything costs double. The moon each month looks different. A tender zoology awaits in the background.
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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