A ceremony of carols triumphs over meaning, French horns skilling past sandstone caves carved in such detail as to suggest that, after all, words stack up to say what can't be. Ready minds like this one have relinquished redwood groves and that game of marbles, aggies included. It takes just a few lives to be free of what once seemed, indisputably, real. And just for window dressing, facing the main street, and no this does not mean as real as TV, or movie world science fiction scary stories. But the whole blob. It's the whole baby carriage just shoved off a cliff. Just for the fun of it, imagine the wind whistling through.
There was no utility to those sandstone excuses. The blocks, Leggo style, clumped together, taking us anywhere, places that never existed but might, adding a delight. Making a harmony with carols in their cloistered choir. And now a blank sheet calls out the universe: Proceed! Prove meaning, beguile the press of electrons on Facebook where such stuff rides rough shod, riders of the purple page.
Better here in these many sandstone mansions, looking backward and forward, words in any direction with all deliberation that wait silently and prepare in effortlessness for what may come on any other schedule. Those favorites, butterflies, and many another cherished icon will love it and attest to it if pressed (please don't imagine between the leaves of a paper book), now not in fear of being burnt but only deleted. The image of a delightful illustration. And maybe a moment's notice for the forest, now passing, or that sandstone template. That whistling tune, as one must admit, makes slightest sound in flight, but yes delightful. The monarchs in their orange impossibility.
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