Lines

It was wide, never sure which direction it came from or even where it would answer to. Its sight was a silent sound…just like. Assured by its guest book full of locals living off its abundant breath.

It stayed and changed like the lines and creases in the palm of mothers natures hand. Smile mile-d wrinkles on your mothers face. You wondered where and when she felt sad, why she felt so happy to tattoo her life as she went further on.

The lay of the land east or west, or white insolent north snow, an unassuming ride along the river was really like deciphering scripture. Mother natures. Its confidence.

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