a charming scene with the perfect light, filtered through perfect curtains by windows.
and outside, the world calls.
roosters with its feathers flying not too far from the ground.
they were made for time-keeping purposes and proclaim it at all the right times.
cock-a-doodle-doo. and the one from the other house replies, cock-a-doodle-doo.
then we hear the chorus.
talking in riddles, icing on a cake. where does the good go when its gone?
a solitary playing solitaire. awake, aware, amazingly still and frozen in a picture that he painted when he was young. while he was dreaming. when the sun took days to show up and the Dark Nights of the Soul came up to him and debated.
"who cares anyway?", moonlessness said with a starrish twinkle in its eye.
"i'm only a channel for whatever wants to be expressed.", he replied.
"whatever.", said moonless.
"forever.", he whispered while writing this:
are reflections but functions of reflex?