The crows are melting in the mists. Feathers dripping across the pines. The pale sun twists. Warping in the sky like oil in water. Trunks bow. Shadows shiver. A silver chain rusts to ash. A pine marten reveals its skull. Ink runs through the sap. The mists swirl through the matrices of atoms. Bending the quantum entanglements just as a prism bends light. In the eye of the beholder the known universe, this woodland, is made absolute by their vision.
Paddy Dobson
19th December 2021