Thursday, April 14, 2011

Bohemia

"I will not wait for you." The breeze unravels like a turban against your skin. "Find me, and I will show you."


Birds descend from the clouds and together you haunt the land. Your bare feet breathe in the dirt, weeds, and flowers that fly under your soles. Ahead, secrets and time make their home in the curly contours of trees. They flutter just beyond the horizon, so you chase them.

image source: cosmic dust

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