
silence of a forest in waiting
steel skies scarred spark & flint
here she comes raining & how
we celebrate her summer rains
drinking her in as she pours

No campfires for me last night, I’d decided. Instead, I elected to wander away into the day that followed flame as I left the camp behind: Sun blazing on one side, Moon cool and pale on the other. Maple’s yellow leaves fell mystic around me, an autumn kind of sakura celebration lacking only the plum wine for the stream ran beside me, falling over stones and breaking white the reflection of the sky.
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somewhere along the path
i somehow lost my way
that was what
old craggy guy
was trying to say, just
get back to the sit...
an expert leading
by example

Back to the campfire…
It the shadows and glow of the flickering ruddy flames, he looks gaunt, grey, and emaciated as he approaches and sits down. His hair, what remains on his taut pate, is a dirty white and as withered as he — scraggly, sparse and I can see more skin than hair.
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