The fog is gently growing over the landscape. The corner of the room is slightly tipping into the elevator shaft. I can't touch or taste what is lying in my mind. I am biting clouds to remove the grit of the ocean. The windmills float air through the windows. The moisture rests on my face. It is trying to snow. Soon it will snow.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Snow
The fog is gently growing over the landscape. The corner of the room is slightly tipping into the elevator shaft. I can't touch or taste what is lying in my mind. I am biting clouds to remove the grit of the ocean. The windmills float air through the windows. The moisture rests on my face. It is trying to snow. Soon it will snow.
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