“In the shadow of the steeple I saw my people
By the relief office I seen my people
As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking
Is this land made for you and me” …by Woody Guthrie

Along Martian Ridge one line eye stretched far. Once was a stutter of thorn then throne then grain then throne then repeated until distance failed seeing and sight disappeared when ridge merged sky and matter dropped from surfaced rust. And! On these staggered thrones Writers’ names etched’ crystal tags attached along the top-front of every throne.’ Round-about pinpricks and holes into space race the flights of gulls ‘cross sky where ending starts, and reason begins…We do remove those ‘for granted’ blinders’-of-right-sight and often skyward search and find light. Wormholes, cosmic cross universes near and far and still ‘we’ see the vast—of power blast possibilities, of relativity’s loopholes and just hope-know-now ‘warp drive’ may span distance ‘cross space, time wonders wandering about wilderness speak ‘til speed crease cease and earth-lock unblock free, ‘childhood’s end’ and into space we seek, and creep and star-child begins again.

A little Galaxy up line along ridges circling the ‘Giants of Milky’ at angles right to the main disc of stars containing everything even a Sun of our shines not scattered at random but ordered and held together a swarm by a cosset halo of matters-dark rarely seen but always present. And! A well-stocked mind is never bored.

World begins green lights, blue corn stocks across a giant ridge five hundred miles and stopping just because height stops, and sky begins. “Tis reach, to stay and say this place is climbing high and growing large from a spinning barge ‘cross this sky bright and eternal night. Everywhere snow large flakes and small, swirl ‘round this alley wide middle dark to light muffled both ends where streets begin and alley’s end. Cold away from streetlights. And! Silent away from rider less paths where foot high white bounce lands and covers asphalt ways and concrete walks. Quiet so! Go no shadow pale wall crawl or dark creep light speak too scattered to form round interruptions of snow motion descend and bounce.

Trail signs run up and down south-ridge-side of hill-high below mountain tall. Tracking the organic beast disguised to survive tend to inorganic challenges and when snow fall covers everywhere and everything ‘tis mountain tall the safest refuge. Nothing rusts any longer. Well-oiled and fine gleam suits of steel reflect sunlight’s glare and deflects insults and injuries and wounds-to-destruction. And! When tucked inside gleam suits, those hidden may be Organic Inorganic or both. Either ‘Runners or those Running’ can think can wit and outwit both sides equally well equally fast equally furious and always deadly, as trail signs appear and disappear from light dawn ‘til night. The paradoxical motion of ‘man-steel form’ and ‘steel-formed man’—are quickly defined and impossible to divine. Notions-are motions-of head shakes as landside changes and rearranges hills-to-valleys and reverse flows of streams-to-river glows. Armored trains passed through snow mountains of tree mix fallen leaves and save rumbled echoes silence. Where do these trains go? These are armored trains and go toward battle. Out of sight out of mind and unless this war comes our way, this war does not exist.

Paley’s watch ticks and Universal continuation continues. Our world of right now words worldwide so many too many and too often, are persecuted imprisoned suffer sub-human disadvantages and are killed for religious reasons and beliefs political; their race, their sex, their loves and still the wisdom of engagement on behalf of human rights is not only a moral imperative but eternally required everywhere every moment ‘cross the continuum universal and still Paley’s watch keeps ticking and ‘too often’ occurs eternally.

“Among the stars
there is a place
to where my heart
always returns.

Alone I look for the way
hoping you are waiting for me
where the hostile world has no say
that is where I always want to be.
Where my rush of thoughts
in oblivion drowns
to forget the evil lot
I will sleep in safe arms.

Among the stars
there is a place
to where my heart
always returns” … by Anna Aya Stefanowicz

The gentle touch of skin brushed-wind morning stars and angel’s dust. And! These precious feet-touch wings-speak to start another path leading little ones to another precious shore sustained hope and just wishes for a moment of ‘good day.’ Uncertain in world-scream, uncertainties wide, grief, bowed head always certain in the certainty of swift chaos and tears. And so, no doubt be found and from ‘cross this sea travelers see candles bright across this night a coming home-to-us, delight light shined ‘Welcome’ from windows’ space of ‘Safe Harbor’ not race, just place to stop and stay awhile. Real Sea we will see and another and another of water-ships and places far away.

This is here and between landings another beach reach and as quickly discovered then thrown away. Dragging the lines of surf’s fall and rise as waves dash high into a moonless sky and crash along miles of sand and shoreline. Sea inhale and exhale and breathe again and time marks nothing when endless and everlasting.

So! Pixel me a thought today and watch as pictures fade away.

Is Dancing-in-the-dark a safe practice or ignorance as blissful as stopping to touch flowers eyes-to-face-to ground and into oblivion? And! The scent of inorganic flowers never compares to the scent of a Rose…

So! Pixel me a thought today and watch as pictures fade away.

And! Beautiful you are…