a moment

An ominous cascade of notes

Transgressing his abominable rage

Gods furry barely touching the leaves yet, the chariots of lightning neighing like celestial monsters in that nearly black gray. The birds sang into the rain, a poetic moments towards which no one's attention was paid, and to the hawk upon high, on his way home, his heart felt a fire, and it was the burn of pain, which nearly broke his wing, sent him to be quils for awful poets preaching as if there was s coming if a new age effervescing from their very words. The rain never came, the turkey cackles, the chainsaw was perfectly tireless in it's task but there, the higher pitches chirped as that woodfall silently chipped, as the bricklayer worked l, too, silently un that barely visible distance. Across the field if coes honey white black brown horses too, that fight and run thumping neighing upon the wet fecund moaning world which they hear in the birdsong, in the things they have no mind to break up into parts and dilute the truth of. The have no fingers and need no quils, no history, no self control or machinery to live and know the way.