The earth is a sleeping pig, stinking, boiling, blunted, blinking, sourly computing every sound in the blinding quiet.   The earth is a precious child. We must attend to every sigh. Rien de plus … There is nothing more or else or other. No other…

Dark firs and spruces fall in order down the hill and drape the checkpoint in mute darkness. Mists roll desolate, hanging, within one’s touch floodlit by a single beam, which lights benighted borderlands, tempting new beginnings far from the calm comforts of the past. Invitation…