Wednesday January 4, 2017
If you could dip your toes in the fine sands of dry rivers you might be able to stop time. Perhaps you would unearth my last wild steps or exhume a fresh form of ancient breath maybe even find the defeated tracks of lonely beasts. That river was once the wet way out. Now it's the dusty red path through because exits are a phenomenon of yesterday. All escape routes will converge eventually. But lets get back to those fine sands, the soft forgiving ones the ones that lend themselves to prayers, whims, and dancing to magic, faith, and writing.
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