🌀
DAY 167
“The Longest Blue”
instrumental· 60s
generating...
Things still present after eleven kilometres:
One heron. One set of prints.
The path's argument with the hill.
A shadow that chose violet instead of grey.
The harbour, narrowed to a hypothesis.
The sky, which kept none of its promises
but stayed.
You are the heron at the path's edge — you must hold perfectly still while Andrew's boot-prints slowly fade from the mud, because the moment the last print disappears you become just another grey thing the sky forgot.