The fervent buzz of an infinite dreamway, the silver-tipped tail of a black cat: point your nose to the north and imagine yourself walking on waves. A dead poet dreaming as the moon grows careless. Do you read the symbolic field with eyes open or closed? You are gently sliding into becoming.
Today: mineral steam rising out of a vapor cave, nuummite, music in the key of G, the brine of seawater, the thorny kiss of bramble.
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Waxing Gibbous
The moon is 13 days old