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  • Writer's pictureAmelia Nicol

The Trees Shrugged

Updated: Apr 11

Rifts of sound or the constant humming imagined between the glances of horizon that assure us of another turn or console us with sunset color. There are differences in movement that regard themselves from the distances imagined for the line of sight and the movement necessary to the sounds that are made without hearing them. Devices we save ourselves from or the conditioned expectations of darkness to overrun the pomp and circumstance of great astrological events. the earth could only center itself from the empty poles we imagined for the explorers who needed a name made for them or wandered so far there was no  sunrise or sunset, but still imagined warmth. disadvantages of plain views, there are cautionary frays of diligence beyond reason that want to look like the forestry with a naked eye. the trees staring at the sun all day, they wandered barely in spiral motions through their cavities and hollowed bark for years and years, just barely turning with the wobbling and inconsistency of day. Each changes for itself, the minute in detail and greater in full calendar, changes by moments for each new day, remembers the timing of the day before in paths of digestion and nutrients as data. Stored the last lengths and categorized another day as beginning or the end over some of the tallest ridges in the world drawn by magnetism; at some point, the reversal of wobble will hit us back into seasons of latitude or some strangely unnameable fanatical necessity in some other happening for our species, that must somehow exist to save us from the wreckage of our societies, of our culture and the ways in which we are capable of viewing the world around us. The reason of the nature noticed passingly and tucked easily away again in clicks along a sidewalk, in demonstrations of shadow and its texture in limits not of light but of wave, or stillness and clarity. Removals of distance between the sights we see and the way in which we view the world; the gaps of speculation or the spectacle of goggles to see that which otherwise eludes us, and to suddenly recognize the earth as not so dark or light as we had expected. Sunrise, sunset; the distances between a thought and the magnetism that put it there, the slightly set back form from the wobble of the earth in frequency and magnitudes of body and its incessant output of motion beyond movement and sound beyond actual hearing. How will i remember the places the sun will have shadowed for the eternity of moments that beg the pockets of clouds away? What will the trees slight from, will they shudder up radiant return for? what disappearance could make them shrug and leave grounds of moments hanging in the air partially fit for other paths, partially original before having formulated an actual originality? They respond to the vibrancy and reattach parts that were never missing, or breathe moonbeams of texture for mediums of response beyond actual fractions of minuteness and any amount of blame or easy answers for strange questions. There is no sense to realizations of inanimate objects, they don’t shudder in the dark the way we do, there is hardly a difference to be charted in reactions and the luminous caricatures of tree slime glowing along branches offsetting a trees growth through a pinhole never sufficient enough to reach those pardons of tactile inference that get lost in the sudden realizations. refractive spark from huge distances bouncing for dimension and luminously reflecting chance and the changes in bio-luminosity from mucousal biofilm and shifting dimensions of sunlight. Astronomical body, physiological fleshy dimensions of path formulated in long distance trips through atmosphere and short closures of zipped folds of reference.

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