[Via Visual Salience]
Tonight is filled with freshly baked snow. It murmurs with each step of the lonely walkers making their ways through the still night, catching the last faintly lit trams and stepping ever so carefully not to slip and unstill the night. As though anyone would see or hear as they touch the ground to suddenly revitalise the sleeping snow into a fury of cold. There’s no one here tough, just the...
[Found at the Imaginary Foundation’s blog.]
The beast who does not exist
O this is the beast who does not exist. They didn’t know that, and in any case —with its stance, its arched neck and easy grace, the light of its limpid gaze —they could not resist but loved it though, indeed, it was not. Yet since they always gave it room, the pure beast persisted. And in that loving space, clear and unfenced, reared it’s head freely and hardly needed to...