These under-shelters of canopy. Illuminated from this internal space. Like if it were representative of an internal collection of experience.. or an awakening. An ether. Or something else... not representational to anything solidified. Just a hazy outline to a less grasped sense of physicality which is also connected to the notes of multiple experiences of a spicifix. Like a gushing well, Points of outpour, And the trapezes holding up the schematics of the boundary elements of reality. Then on the other side of these physical ties, is the under current. These strings holding elements suspended in a state, and comprising a truer fabric to us as we interact with one, while the struts and appendages under this contort and distort, compose to us an essential view for us to prop our psyche against, and to let it fly free.
A swooping fingered wing catching the wind. grabbing it and pulling itself to the heavens.
the micro-current gusts spiraling off the fringes like little torrents. trickling off into the larger masses of current.
Jumping in the buoyant mass, like a rippling heat wave fluttering in the abyssal accention.
Pushing downward within the grasp, through the meniscus of corporeal existence, the breadth and wonder of the unknown fiery plain.
like slooping gables arching upward to the spier.
