Landscape February 3, 2015 2:57:30 PM – 2:58:56 PM

Next to my one foot an open book was engaged in light conversation with the wind.

Up on the hill. It is the wind blowing tunes through the rushes. Resisted, but wrote: nothing. The most important. When I woke up, I was certain:

Did I drag you along to the outermost mountains? The ideal, whispers the quiet wind, is not necessarily the trimmed trees, the tightly composed book.