Tuesday, August 6, 2024

The White Eagle

 




That moment when pink becomes orange in the sky 

a petal on the ground, or is it the other way around.

Enter into the ether where we once said good buy, here we are now hello to all

Wolves fly with sparrows as they watch the spiders weave


Somewhere between here or there she sort of did land. The pads of her feet ner touch the ground but float right above. She could feel the vibrations from the earth below sand and rock moved to and fro. Creatures near and far gathered and shook sleep from their eyes from deep in time. 

Her feet hit the spot black and white oxfords bonded her tots. Donned was she with green in the dark, where most couldn't see a thing for it could not be, a light so bright before their site. A jackal now, ears tall with much hight, grey, dark, a white Ostara bag in hand. The smell of despair was long hung in the air. This spot was she as she touched the earth long ago was her home, in a body she once had known.


The cardinal clad in red from hood to down landed he did on a tree dead. 



In the north they gathered all the matter that mattered a storm of sand from the land a cyclone from sea engulf thee, spin and spin till your site is dim hold to the ring, y'all are gonna have to pull the string. 




Be still and listen

One day I will tell you a story





How many really know what going on?



I'd say a hand full 6 fingers long. 




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