Stilte.

The world sleeps as night time comes, the unsavory and just alike watching over them.

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.

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.