Walked out the back door and left a spider's world of perfect symmetry in shreds. What kind of monster would do this? he said.

A Horned Owl's hooting bounces off the moon; 
Brain rotates in its skull like a lighthouse beacon illuminating what's surely sailing toward disaster.
Yellow begets, but red overrules; then deepens, 
until nothing's familiar anymore. Not the wind's
shrieks, nor the cheery songs of a nest of birds. 

Passing a stone structure in ruins: no windows, no doors, no roof, dead leaves tumbling down its steps, here the path rises to an aspect of the goddess Athene from Libya where she was the Serpent-Goddess of the Libyan Amazons. In her images, her hair sometimes resembles dread locks, showing her origins in Africa. There she had a hidden, dangerous face. It was inscribed that no one could possibly lift her veil, and that to look upon her face was to glimpse one's own death as its depths.

To be fully human one must be a bird,
a bobcat, an island of stones.

Soon the creek will rise to meet a persistent rain, and these stones will find themselves in midst of the fluidity that's wearing them down.


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