A small thin man crosses the street, maybe 5 ft. tall, 90 lbs. (Humans come in all sizes but mine, Sasquatch grunts, curled in the roots of a tree), fingers laced, a philosopher's gait, he mumbles to himself, unaware that green eyes have opened an alternative route.

Meanwhile, Dark & Cold work together coating stones with ice, the creek struggles to work its mouth. Families of plants
all the more singular since, showing, signifying, designating, this sign is void of sense. It says itself void of sense, simply and doubly monster, this 'we': we are sign--showing, informing, warning, pointing as sign toward, but in truth hang onto
                                          a thin layer of
                               slippery loam.

      it's a