The muscles tensed. Down and contracted to give the pose of a stalker. The sort that could walk straight through the long grass and not move a single blade. The hard imprints of feet in the earth and the soft movement of eyes that could not be seen. A breath escaped, one that added clouds to the earth in a place of ice. A brown form, broken by patches of dark and light. A noise comes and breaks through the silence of the earth, but cannot break the silence of the mind. Not as the smell does.
No movement to be seen. The form there and then not. For it runs. Pads hitting the ground, hands grasping for footing. A break in the trees where the light hits and the singular world of rain. The smell. The fifth limb swishes from side to side as the hair flies back. The smell. The forest looms, the haze covers all but the figure still runs. Taut stomich and hard nails that brush low to the ground as the spine twists to carry the weight. There is nothing a head but roots of trees and the light of the haze and the sun.
And still it runs…
Very, very strange work. Not sure how I came up with it i just had a singular vision in my head and tried to share it.
Mind you the way I think is not in words, or even always images. Its in light, and sounds and tastes and touch, and those are not how we would usually even interprut them…. but I did my best.
Read it and gather it as you will. There is no right or wrong interpretation to this one I think…
It just is as it is.