There are wind-ablated mesas where death leans as blackened tree, and revenants float like ghosts risen from rocks and set adrift.
Walking on the bluffs this afternoon, I looked toward the setting sun, and thought about how Japanese folktales delight in ghost stories, especially those entwined with nature. For example, a young farmer named Heitaro blocks his village from using a willow tree's wood to build a bridge. One day, while he was sitting in the willow's shade, a beautiful woman appeared.
borderline between humanity and the rest of the natural world is
the burr, when positioned correctly and stared at, much like a miniature
goat head, center mass ugly like a virus or strain of bacteria, its
rapier-like spikes jutting approximately where the horns, ears, and
a devilish beard-point are the
ego's most clever illusion, as it is between life and death.