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.
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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