They dug themselves out of the mountain ground by the hundreds, climbed high and split wide. Red-eyed crawled out of their own backs, soft, vulnerable and white, wings crumpled, to sit and darken and harden their final form black. Flew away to hum in a chorus of a hundred million tiny wooden bells chatter clacking love. Ground riddled with perfect holes, cast off skins and black bodies. Dogs and birds grew fat, as will the trees this and every seventeenth ring.
3 comments:
this is rather gross. i can't make skin and ends of it, which is probably why it looks so alien. actually, i can now after looking at it some more. strange.
this is INcredible.
i love the wings.
hate their noise
people are afraid of the wild, though i do think red red day is not!!!!! ")
mien, starting taking pictures of these almost the moment I arrived, they were kind of gross in their lethargic legions, slowing moving from place to place, twig to limb. They had flight but rarely used it and I pitied them because of it.
tumbleword, it was really strange their noise, different there(Penland) than here. Sometimes, depending on my mood, like the wooden bells, others like a idling truck but here they screech at a higher pitch.
I agree Mien is not afraid of the wild either, though certainly disgustedly fascinated on occasion.
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