Saturday, January 9, 2016

apotheosis of loam

Like the dying rays of a sickly setting sun, she sank into the earth. Numb fungal chthonic awareness merged imperfectly with her own. Daisy Petal died but stubbornly refused to cease.

Everything she had been spread out into the haphazard fungal mats, deep forest loam, and clay choked algal river banks. Slowly, haphazardly, in the cold dark maze of her new awareness, she crept into an aspen root. A million eyes, in symbol, became her own, in living metaphor. Each branch of the entire glen born of the selfsame tree.

It took her ages to understand, that separation of asexual being and the profound community of aspen glades. The whole of the wood was her's by the time she began to comprehend.

She was something more and something less than herself by the time she emerged.

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