(frequencies)
all of the black birds
sit on telephone wires
absorbing voices
/////////////////////////
We drove down the avenue. I could see the mountain from the car window in the grey skies. It's snow shines and sits upright like a God with perfect posture. Lining down the avenue were big sign's marketing cheap sales, fast food places on each side of the street, trailer park graveyards in fading colors with broken in walls and mildew growing all over, broken down gas stations, used car dealers, abandoned cars in empty lots with weeds taking over, trash in the crease of the street and the sidewalk. No trees were in sight within the first few miles. I saw black birds flocking to the telephone wires because no trees were around in the town. The skies were growing darker, building up rain. 'They send us messages and most of the time we never notice' I thought. The birds, those animals we ignore. They sit on telephone wires, absorbing our fears and conversation. Think about vultures, circling you in a desert. The burnt sand blowing all around, getting caught in the creases of your ear. The vultures feel your fear. They know you are close to dying. They circle and circle until they've become your predator. These birds know something nature. It's instinct. James and I drive and I watch the little townie black birds observe cars as they pass by on light post and telephone wires. They judge our ignorance. We make it out of the town and come upon large acres of grass and small houses. The mountains grow bigger and bigger. We go through winding roads all through tiny cliffs. We make it to the base of the three Godly mountains. Looking up I see snow covering trees. For miles, it inches up, becoming part of the fog. Looking up I only see two colors: grey and white. We drive for miles find where the winding roads end. No trace of a sun or a moon. They were buried in the fog. The world was grey and white. We begin walking through the snow. Tree inch up for miles. Tree branches bending from the weight of the snow. There was a dead silence in the mountains. You couldn't hear the motors muffing on highways. You couldn't hear the construction of buildings and street work. All you could hear was the wind, the frozen rain hitting you jacket and the steadiness of your breathing. When you can't find the sun or the moon, your only direction is your instinct. Like a falcon, we roamed. The desolation of the cold mountains made me realize that it doesn't need me. It doesn't need us. I then saw a spider roaming through the snow. That's what we are. Spiders roaming through the snow. An aimless wonder, without a path driven by instinct. We stayed and watch the fog darken and the snow glisten. The undefiled silence was nature's complexity with disruption. We left with slipping tires on ice. We found a cliff to stop on and tunred off the headlights. The fog moved like an ancient creature and revealed its true pride; the moon. It illuminated the fog and left the snow gleaming. All together, they accent each others beauty. We drove through the mountain and again, we hit the avenue. I saw those orange lights glowing like horrid embers and industrial smoke like the hot breath of a spirit. I think, 'This is living?' This is our inconsistencies. We view vertical buildings as mountains. They are replaced in our eyes. We find that view, up above the city and admire those orange lights glistening, becoming our stars. The world's sky is filled with our smoke so stars can't see us and we can't them. I got a view from the top of everything and saw nothing. There were no stars, no sun, no moon, no buildings. Just the color of my skin. Just the color of my blood. Just the color of my breath. Just the color of my soul in the center of the luminous snow.
all of the black birds
sit on telephone wires
absorbing voices
/////////////////////////
We drove down the avenue. I could see the mountain from the car window in the grey skies. It's snow shines and sits upright like a God with perfect posture. Lining down the avenue were big sign's marketing cheap sales, fast food places on each side of the street, trailer park graveyards in fading colors with broken in walls and mildew growing all over, broken down gas stations, used car dealers, abandoned cars in empty lots with weeds taking over, trash in the crease of the street and the sidewalk. No trees were in sight within the first few miles. I saw black birds flocking to the telephone wires because no trees were around in the town. The skies were growing darker, building up rain. 'They send us messages and most of the time we never notice' I thought. The birds, those animals we ignore. They sit on telephone wires, absorbing our fears and conversation. Think about vultures, circling you in a desert. The burnt sand blowing all around, getting caught in the creases of your ear. The vultures feel your fear. They know you are close to dying. They circle and circle until they've become your predator. These birds know something nature. It's instinct. James and I drive and I watch the little townie black birds observe cars as they pass by on light post and telephone wires. They judge our ignorance. We make it out of the town and come upon large acres of grass and small houses. The mountains grow bigger and bigger. We go through winding roads all through tiny cliffs. We make it to the base of the three Godly mountains. Looking up I see snow covering trees. For miles, it inches up, becoming part of the fog. Looking up I only see two colors: grey and white. We drive for miles find where the winding roads end. No trace of a sun or a moon. They were buried in the fog. The world was grey and white. We begin walking through the snow. Tree inch up for miles. Tree branches bending from the weight of the snow. There was a dead silence in the mountains. You couldn't hear the motors muffing on highways. You couldn't hear the construction of buildings and street work. All you could hear was the wind, the frozen rain hitting you jacket and the steadiness of your breathing. When you can't find the sun or the moon, your only direction is your instinct. Like a falcon, we roamed. The desolation of the cold mountains made me realize that it doesn't need me. It doesn't need us. I then saw a spider roaming through the snow. That's what we are. Spiders roaming through the snow. An aimless wonder, without a path driven by instinct. We stayed and watch the fog darken and the snow glisten. The undefiled silence was nature's complexity with disruption. We left with slipping tires on ice. We found a cliff to stop on and tunred off the headlights. The fog moved like an ancient creature and revealed its true pride; the moon. It illuminated the fog and left the snow gleaming. All together, they accent each others beauty. We drove through the mountain and again, we hit the avenue. I saw those orange lights glowing like horrid embers and industrial smoke like the hot breath of a spirit. I think, 'This is living?' This is our inconsistencies. We view vertical buildings as mountains. They are replaced in our eyes. We find that view, up above the city and admire those orange lights glistening, becoming our stars. The world's sky is filled with our smoke so stars can't see us and we can't them. I got a view from the top of everything and saw nothing. There were no stars, no sun, no moon, no buildings. Just the color of my skin. Just the color of my blood. Just the color of my breath. Just the color of my soul in the center of the luminous snow.
