09/24/2026
last year the wind swept through here, snapping the cottonwoods that danced along the east shore for years. a blink, a shudder - a tree collapses back into the mix of earth & trash & earth & spit, boneset opens and spreads starlight among the barrens. when the overstory collapses, the tale unfolds again ~
the dense blankets of moss carry life home, to the clarity of the river - green tendrils of shelter, movement unbound, protecting. the old growth tended with caring hands through time stretched into perpetuity, beyond the meagre concept of measure itself quantified and crammed into some half-assed spreadsheet shrinking the essence of it ~all~ , cut with sharp blades of delusion. you can find the stumps strewn about the lush forests near the coasts, ghosts of a people & a place & a circle ripped and thrown to the edge. a salmon jumping up a steel barricade of absurdity, despite all odds - we breathe.
and if all i do is sit here & stare at the half eaten acorn, the stripped strands of cedar tumbling down the trunk, & the nibbled remains of pine cone atop the nurse log, i have learned more than i ever will under yr hollowed out gaze of machinery. we will feast at our shared lunch table, crow, and glance at the stars
meanwhile, the warblers still return, their bright flashes of chartreuse amidst green into brown. above the teal doused brush, laced with glysophate & operational directors & tucked in polos - hopping with song, life unto death i cry & spit & shriek at this. is this all there is ? our blooms begin to fade, but a fading is not a disappearance, no matter the poison dumped upon them. we still draw pictures of our homes, of our lovers, of the birds above the waves crashing into shore. holding funerals & parties, worshipping rocks & the blood between us
from the cracked asphalt rises a swallowtail's home, even if for just a breath
autumn return, år to tusen tjueseks
