A silent scene of spotlit trees . . .
So dutiful and true to their scripted roles . . .
Serenely looking out and away . . .playfully aloof and coy
Deliberately ignorant to the trials and tribulations of man . . .
Just being . . .
Being a perch for the locust to drone on about some apocalypse the will always remain in the future . .
Being the ouroboric head that endlessly devours the tail of my existence . . .
Being the face of honesty . . .
And the truest source of humility.
We are the transient beings that dance in recurrent brownian routes which serve as looping gifs that repeat after the timelapse an actual eternity.
Hello again. Goodbye again.
I've wandered onto the set of life and I can only sit on stage to wonder what the playwright desired this to be.
