(no subject)

[arghreality]

I sit here, six months since I sat here last - I will never sit here again. And still hanging from the hooked twigs of this tree, is the same shredded plastic bag - desolate and torn as wind whips through it... when it's caught by a gust it becomes alive; becomes a hanged man, straining and shaking at his barbed bonds - desperate and hooded, hung in the wind. When it briefly subsides his head sinks mournfully, resting on his living prison... I wonder at his hanging for so long.
And yet - behind him the sun sets, and clear light shines through the branches, and the wind makes all things new.