My eyes saw glorious pine trees. They swayed so majestic and branches rose and shifted in prayer to the wind. So well suited they are to the goddess of the north winds! Then my tortured globes do they spasm downwards, and stop mid-movement. A horrible cartoon displayed late at night on over-bright dying phosphors.
Was the delay between up and down due to late tiredness, or was it native to it's environment? Taut and bleeding branches of strain, mocked natively on those eyes by a layer of bright reflected sky, a sky full of masterfully aloof pine. The eyes drifted down and saw humans! Scary humans in scary dwellings!
Now I want to crawl on the dirt, and sob like a starving orphan marmoset force-fed empty hyper-pregnant holograms? I have seen too many slicks of heaven floating on tepid yet rushing waters. I have seen too often the twisted rupture of this life before me, into happy trees without easels manned.