There is a strong feeling of other voices in the world around you. Those buzzy Other dimensions, flicking leaf a step beyond tethered ground.
When you don’t look they appear laughing as shaking matter, old children expanding out of mud, new forms on the peripheral of fantastic shapes and sizes, yellow, red, wet silver mud. When you don’t neccessarily look you are surrounded by a cacophony of laughing voices. They giggle at your bag of tools weighing, the narrow lens of a crinkly head, forehead.
They giggle at your urgency to produce a Beautiful description of unfurling, worlds that have not yet made answers. Lame poetry on the edge of the tongue. You’re listening now and they say, notice the quietening of movement, as you walk beyond the narrow path. When static tension becomes passing waves. Imagine your fuzzy head in an expanding chamber, when tension becomes wave. Imagine the intensity of wideness.
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Sadness too hovers over the purple canopy. Look at the horizon string. You’re in an English field in winter. The clean bare trees make a purple tinge murmuring stories, a different edge, an old colour that marries your eyes well in a timeless dark, flat bubbles of fear under the belly. Here the silouettes of tree branches have a weight. You wonder what was made in the English field?
A deep and murky kind of isolation, that sends you hunting for the next epiphany with your mind’s lassoo. In this large field your mind is tiny and long like a wobbly arrow. Under the purple canopy you big sigh, again. What is the mind without searching? “I am nothing without looking.” When the turning of the world seems mute, a grey non light solid frozen in the centre of things.
Intensity and isolation, other parts of Nature.
The voices giggle you onwards as gusts in dry twigs, facing the emptied out belly of winter, soft winds through hollows, ready for birthing. Beside the sad another feeling lay. You’re listening to the passing of wind through dry birch twigs, opening the gift of patience. Opening, when the view of a turn in the path shows shining sun on a mossy wall, enscribed with patterns unseen. A new spectrum of worlds.