Wednesday, September 28, 2011
The children in the forest again. The sun's rays defining them through the canopy and the forest moaning and creaking indifferently to the children. The meaning of the forest's music lost on them. They looked out from their world that was bound by their loyalty to the old man like a family of foreigners. Their child-fingers on the muddy low parts familiar and reverential. Their line creeping among the different instruments of the forest's will. Dawdling between tree trunks like a toddler among his mother's legs. The forest's sensuous organs secretly seeing them without seeing them like a blind kiss like a mother's peeping. The presence of a tree in a child's life. The nature of the Earth's organic endeavor unobservable from inside of its own clockwork. It keeps its own rhythm despite the ebb and flow of human enterprise like it did before this ambitious animal elevated itself to dominate the Earth and yet remain asleep to the aethereal presence of nature's multitudes.