An ever-revealing something flutters into existence. Mirror backwards into the mind, bow your head, and prepare for take-off. Animal nature, ripped and pointed like a flowering vine, “deep we go down to die”. Write this down and put it under your pillow, knowing that air is a medium.
Today: the sound of crickets, honey calcite, music in the key of F, the glow of a deep sea jellyfish, and the vulnerability of blooming laburnum.
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Waning Gibbous
The moon is 23 days old