Ancient watcher.

If only all could hear the words of silent ancient earth.

Rowing.

So still the waters lay before me, the ripples outrun as they make their own way behind.

Before the storms.

It’s just another day before a storm.

The sun is felt even from behind the clouds, and the heat hangs in the air.

Spirals once more.

There is never the straight line which all would like to see.

A finite offering.

Silence on the beast, it grins and watches what comes forth. Unknowing and knowing blended in a mob of mixed intentions.