Saturday, December 19

pulchritudo vanescit

^ain't that the truth, neighbors.
check the nature-wins-type teleport:

weirdie winter flowers, and leaves,
in dried brown sepia and murmuring waterfalls.
the brook is babbling it's secrets,
and the leaves are still there, listening and not hearing,
well past the point when actions should've taken precedence
really, they should've fallen off some time ago...
it's nearly winter,
and holding on instead of letting go isn't going to get them anywhere good.
they're beautiful,
which i can certainly appreciate,
but that does't make the big picture any less dead.
if you know, you know,
and if you don't know, you won't.
nature wins,
and the secret universal plan doesn't allow for side bets.
there's an injurious inevitability to the four seasons in new england.
they're all hard, and they're all reliable in their undependability.
that's some sh!t.
knowing that the external forces want to eff us up,
we've only got each other to man the gates.
friends take sides,
but nature takes over.
it's us vs her,
and she will always win.
divided or united, the end is always the same;
never quiet, never soft.....

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