Tossing Rocks into the Grass

I’ll toss a rock into the grass, and see what kind of creatures come out. What snakes come slither, what birds aloft flitter? Do dark insects live in those rotten logs? Or perhaps a mutually curious furry four legged entity will scurry down and peer from ebony orbs. A caveman scientist manipulating sticks and rocks and grass and light to achieve desired attention. No, just simple inquiry, I imagine. Do all deer scatter at my comings? Or maybe there is another creature that sits? He has no nothing and wants for none. Experience heavy weighs the judgements of his periphery, time tempered intelligence this body he sits at the end of my rope. Until there, I know is where I must survey. This tool, this weapon, this treasure. I may be consumed, and so I am ready, but corpse come rather angel this may just be the best way out. From lava to the stars, this I know, is that I must go to where I don’t. That black man, I’ll see how he reacts.


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