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November 3, 2009 / Hannah

of trees and things~

Hmm this isn’t very good, but here it is anyways (that sounds awfully like a compliment-seeking comment. But it’s not…. it’s just what it is.) I think reading Fitzgerald makes me prose-y, which is kind of fun… he’s so introspective. Or is it self-absorption? I don’t know. Hm. Anyhow.

Visions of running up to the edge of some gaping

rift in the world’s surface, dusty and darkly deep.

I don’t like the view, but

I take a few steps back and examine my surroundings.

Examine? no, study. Intently even.

It, the sharply falling cliff

right there,

came out of nowhere.

It’s unsettling.

New scene.

Vision from somewhere outside my self, some special effect that feels like the zoom of a telescope lens

and the crevice begins to look like a crack in the bark of a tree

spreading as the tree’s growth rips it open.

It’s growing.

Bright green leaves will shoot forth from the outer shell of

brittle wood: exposed to rain as to sun.

The sun spurs growth, growth is good.

It pulls me apart.

The tree is the tree (is the tree is the tree…)


Every day of my life either sunshine or rain

Just the same

Is the tree.

Infinite wonder at the infinite

just to comprehend

I Am.

Is the tree.


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