Blows into eardrum and drums seances I do not understand.
The spirit of the air dancer raps in tongues. Some freckle understands. Some quarter of my iris understands and I perceive it all. Mysteries as fountains of knowledge that I stumble on and across Mohave deserts and Appalachian mountains…alone, so it seems.
Always hitting my feet on rocks and bitching about the fire. But that wind; it will always be there; has always been there. Whispers to me all along the way. The most patient everlasting flow - that really fucks up my outfit sometimes!
I love it more weaving through my hair.
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