Repascere Print

End of fall now drowned within whiteness, pulp logs neatly piled along this work path; weird one still can imagine all the noises erupting from machines hurriedly cutting down to size trees from within this piece of earth; Now so eerily unreal, up to those snow flakes holding together precariously aligned along that branch, itself so stretched into the void, it looks as if the sheer load of freshly landed snow might break it from its mother trunk. Maybe now she is praying for wind's help into pushing off those white intruders... It shows how fragile we all are whenever change decides to land into us, thus disrupting a semblance of life...the thin illusion each of us is stubbornly holding to, from an over abundance of ignorance actually us drowning...