In a land far far away the trees are a multitude of grass in a giant field and where people are made hidden in the shadows of ancient wilderness. Here, the residents live by catching dew in barrels of green plastic.
. . . .and work ceaselessly to scrape away the moss which seeks to devour the roofs of cabins.
Two suns from two journeys meet again at the end of the day.
Sometimes it seems like we can sail on this fluid that shimmers like time itself ,
. . . .and work ceaselessly to scrape away the moss which seeks to devour the roofs of cabins.
Two suns from two journeys meet again at the end of the day.
Sometimes it seems like we can sail on this fluid that shimmers like time itself ,
and float between shadow and light – held in place by a gaze fixed on some far horizon.
In this land strange creatures live and call out as they have for millennia
– with a voice we waited lifetimes to hear again.
Those 'scrapers of moss' are a breed few and far between - yet essential to the well being of all that live in organic climates.
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