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- The Birds.
- There is little pattern to their call.
- But it rouses me, just the same.
- The sun isn't even out yet.
- The air is bitter cold.
- I feel warm.
- Must be my clothes.
- I wish it wasn't though.
- I wish I had enough control.
- Control to be warm in cold.
- The best I can do is banish shivers.
- But that is just a mental block.
- Quickly placed and broken.
- Well.
- Now is as good a time to try again as any.
- The cotton of my shirt lays in my lap, now.
- Soon, my legs will be warm.
- But now?
- For now I feel the bite in the air.
- I feel my skin stiffening.
- The vibrations are coming.
- But no.
- I can practically hear the stone falling into place.
- The impulses crash against it.
- It is almost overpowering.
- I have enough faculty left though to at least try.
- Warm...
- The sun beats on my body. I hear the sound of waves crashing against sand.
- Warm...
- The heat bleeds into my body. The aroma of wood burning fills my senses.
- Warm...
- I feel my skin like fire. I hear my mother berate me for touching the stove.
- Pink surrounds my vision.
- I had become lost in my attempt to be stronger.
- The light pierces my eyes.
- Pain blossoms for a moment.
- But I simply become still.
- Let it pass.
- There.
- Color fills my eyes.
- I am reminded of how strange this place is.
- The circle of brown soil beneath me smells of grass, freshly wet.
- And the flowers?
- I see their purple radiance, but smell nothing.
- I remember telling my mother that roses have no smell.
- All she did was give me an odd look.
- Enough thought.
- Let the pattern begin.
- My pack has been re-organized.
- The food stored.
- Water full.
- Shoes tied tight.
- My shirt?
- Around my waist.
- I may put it on later.
- But for now?
- It stays there.
- Time to leave.
- I am assaulted.
- Not mentally or physically.
- No. I smell the flowers.
- All of them.
- It's perfect.
- I can't resist.
- I need to take one.
- Too small.
- Too small.
- Not big enough.
- There.
- On the edge of the field.
- That is the one.
- The blossom is as wide as my thumb.
- Perfect.
- It even fits perfectly.
- Fits snugly in the front loop on my back pack strap.
- Now I can smell this perfect aroma every time I pause in my step.
- I know it won't last long.
- But...
- I feel that it isn't supposed to.
- It will fade when it needs to fade.
- Prolonging it doesn't seem right.
- There is a wide path here.
- On either side is a wide dark tree.
- There isn't a knot on either of them.
- I've never seen as old a growth with out a defect.
- There is no answer here.
- Time to walk.
- I feel almost nothing but soil beneath my soles.
- Nary a rock.
- Nor root.
- Neither seed.
- But I see many leaves.
- The ground is anything but silent upon the steps I bear.
- Theory after theory unfold into my mind.
- But no answer.
- No conclusion.
- Best not dwell.
- Do what is familiar.
- Walk.
- Nothing of interest.
- No animal trails.
- Nothing.
- Wait.
- There.
- Exposed in the sun.
- Canvas spread to spill white upon green.
- A mat of moss.
- Soil like feathers.
- And best of all?
- No ants.
- Perfect.
- I can lay here a time.
- I fall into dreamless sleep.
- Silence greets me.
- snap
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