In which Carrie finds a reflection…

Watching small calderas pool with rimmed yellow pollen which I was celebrating the other day as trees having sex while my nose overflowed from reaction; but who is to say that they are not miniature volcanoes there since human activity mirrors those of nature in the ordering.

A symbol in mathematics spoken perfectly or a wild pour of concrete on dust.  Whoosh.   Spatter. It is a new mountain range I must cross as though the warrior ant. I cannot understand these things, they are made by others, others who are like me but unlike me in understanding.  A berm near a river, also I must cross.  I am small and easily maneuvered.

Rain billowing its own composition altering the landscape so slowly like regeneration of code.  Evening spreads its cool nothing over a landscape made for wandering.  The concrete subsides slightly with the weight of the water while the pollen rests with the wicked.


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