I am reminded of science fiction stories with portals which lead to another time and place. Except that in the stories it is always somewhere really exciting, but here it is mundane. Mundane, but at least with a quiet charm. In and out, in and out, and where are we really, especially when we're only halfway through.Tied to this anchor this overgrown shrub, heads low in acceptance of a fate where we drift on an island of mist. Where we blend in and revolve ever so slowly around a fading altar.
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