rookscape kaleidoscope
in the rookscape hangs chimed sleeping mist the treeline blended into the hue of time the grey aura sleeps intertwined with great and small bustling about horned or pawed glistering black dots the iris of the thinkers in the dark dart about some sleep yet where there is no calendar timelessly the scene unfolds turning like a clock the little world turns in itself to find the mist disappearing in the rising of the sun small things come and great things go dreaming witnesses of the forest slumber it would have been so sad if it all stood there quite still the little hearts pumping for nuts the great hearts trotting for feed but most of these things that truly give the forest its heartfelt splendor dream while they are awake in the way that little paths turn each one is home to an animal feeling its way through familiar trails and coves home to each one of them and not in one specific place but there where its space made it feel like itself to turn into the dream of the forest reflected for the rookscape to complete it would like the internalizer for it for all the animals are asleep dreaming of the woods in which they live to actualize one of them must wake up to see the rest crawling some of them on their bellies some of them on their feet for all of these notions spiral like stars but forever afloat on a timeline absent waiting for you to come and see the magic of the rookscape kaleidoscope spinning atrium of stained glass tapestry slowly drifting on this grand disk of earth planted in the pangs of birth to condense your trail into one of hope that you might carry them with you home wherever you go
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Spiritual
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CuldeSac
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