These places are the ebb and flow of creativity. The honesty of the machine going back to the ground.
Setting on the dead flowers of The Winter.
The journey is ever ending.
Rust is a fight to the death for them.
Be in the generations where my Avo walked. The sky and the Earth breathe each other in. The harps of the wind are little punches on the duck tape holding the bolts together.
We feel the sun and the laughter on the backs of our necks. Seeing who and where the rest of you are in the vanguard.
Find me by the water.