Spritual Writings

The Sun Moves

Time opens its eye over a ragged fringe of trees: a molten pupil, an iris as wide as the world. Time elemental within the quaking of atoms, the sway of purple martins, the compass swing of the sun. We are the catalyst in this crucible of time and space. Consumed by the experiment, seeking the muttering scientist, even as we avert our eyes from the heat.