Always storing up... for what?
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Always storing up... for what?
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An extraordinary flash flood sweeps all the tender detritus down, down into the ravine of potential; I glance over the edge and see it collecting somewhere, microscopic to myopic view. And you? Nowhere to be seen, my mind is dry; the heart a vague oasis with spidery tendrils of sensation creeping up from the arid ground miragelike.
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If I were to collapse here, glance far upward towards the towering cacti, I would have plenty of time to wonder what succulents are always storing up for... as time dilates to the scale of meaningless grandeur. How long, really, can a drought go — generations-long dessication of life with only wafers to crunch and mist to drink? Lower mind plays through abysmal scenarios, over and over they never happen but seem to, the illusion taking on solidity due to the building delirium of hundred-year parch.
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I guess I'll wait on the next flood or turn alkali in the fasted sunstroke of abandonment. Spring is supposed to be here, around a corner I can't seem to turn — so far.

I'm just storing up... at least until paralysis subsides.

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original photos taken with iPhone 8+
by @dpend.extra