Behold the Workings

A spider thin calligraphy, a varicose script upon the shallow sheen of mortality. Are these the genetics of a divine act arriving as green stems, weeds and blooms all in a tangle? A scratchy nib of doodled ideas? Behold the dying and the replenishing, the glory of the shedding. All this upon a tumbled forest floor where imagination plods daily. More marks upon a blank page developing slow in the low light of scribbled thoughts. More night flowerings and late sweepings.