Draw these momenta into the sun, reveling in what nurtures. Taking things slow, the second growth of the season. Embracing ilegibility in all of its uncertain, immeasurable wonder. Re-placing oneself, coming to terms with decay. Shifting views on what it means to waste away. Acknowledging abundance, feasting in silence, in smallness. Falling to earth by way of slender fortunes.
Slowing down, listening to what happens upstream. Going for the the gutter, the in-between. The buzzing of peripheries which can only just be sensed, the flimmer in the corner of sight. Seeing peripheries for what they are, and giving space to them. Letting loose seized rhythms of passage and seeing the relations therein. Allowing severed seams of otherly fabrics to exist, beyond the realms if discretionary gazes. Allowing for the rise of refuge.
Who is computing, kindling what spark? Who is shooting and what is the mark?
To correspond with spheres long passed, worlds with waning clearness. Distributed overlapping existences spread out on the forest floor. To play apart, not as in alone but a part. As a node among many.