Little seems the same. I see no one. The valley itself is naught, at least in eyesight. the music yet swells, a beautiful resonance with the scape of the land. Trees, jagged and stark, stab the sky; their leafless limbs try to rend gashes in the too-perfect clear blue of sky. The trees themselves are more than perfect. Solid pastels of colour; yellow, red, orange as if covered in wet paint. I cannot touch them to be sure - that would ruin the ethereal stillness. I can only observe this new landscape and wander/wonder.
from where did this paint come?
...and why, I wonder.
That floating mouth in the distance - that smile, rather - that I can now see... those beaux yeux seeing me... maybe they know more of this new world and how one survives here.
One can only hope!
taste and see..
and with cheer,
w/w
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