Psychedelic Love Affair 4: Deep Autumn

You are not morning. You are late afternoon. And that's why beings love you. You are the warmth of a thing past its peak, the growing fuzz of possibilities for transformation from the light's late gaze into something less clear. You are a meadow caught by a sudden dazzle of solar photons, lazy and majestic. You don't hold promises, or negotiate means of keeping them. You are the scuppered sound of a rower's oars kissing the tops of the waves as they recede. You are the gentle gleam on the belly of the plane as it hums by. You are not night. Your warmth may last long into darkness, but you are not that mystery. You are not the hard-baked glory of noon. You are the late gold miners chased but never found in solid form. You are the late afternoon. And that's why we love you. - spaceotter meadowmancer ----------- "Being menial, how do we let vastnesses strike through Our fastened nerves, or see -- being the ordered smallesses We are -- the whole spill, squeeze and boiling without Losing heart, mind, or being Insinuated -- hugged or struck into the unwanted Northless utmosts, the Southless balconies between Gables of dust, rotundas of sun? Can it be our comfort's Derived from our dumbness?" - from "The Fractal Lanes" by Alice Fulton -------------- Always thanks to Wesley Holmes, Erin O'Conner-Drew, Jeremey Linden, Kadeejah Streets, Jenö, Lee Burridge, Brother Michael and the playa.