it is evening in the industrial part of town. the sky opens with auroric force, the way it always does after the rain. the light always hits here first, before it dances south, or east.
there is a field of tall grasses, nestled between industry and industry. here, sounds of machines and birds alike. trees grow through chainlink; edging the abandoned mill.
Wind turbines of sawdust. Buildings with forms of the unknown. Try to touch it, but you never will.
my Michaelanglo hand reaching, by Casey Bennet.