It has been winter in our hearts. The pulsed flow of things, the inevitability of shift, has been hidden from us. We thought we were looking straight on, we were, we were looking straight on and the intensity of our focus masked the shifts in the periphery, what we knew but only underground, unnamed and unspoken.
Now everything is broken open and the air smells complicated. In all the rush and tumble, our gears fit together. Surprising. The sun polishes your breastplate. You raise your spear and I blow the judgement horn.
Go now. Go. Go. Go