For Example, the Tiny Pallid Billows..

How the tiny pallid billows struggle their way to the firmament in traffic. The sky breaks over the shivering breathing meadows and- the deceased. Cold goes rushing by. Rain mocks the grass as it soaks the soil with odor and life, pending on the far-flung blond feathers to tangle spirits in the shape of roots. And then, dangling from the skinny branches, that hold still- the heavy fines, little knots stretch their gold from the womb of these mines. The woodlands utterly hustle with tales of struggle and tales of life, and yet... they co-survive.

by: Rania Moallem