wind chimings

Breeze by Apollo Sunshine

Theres a silent hill, laid in with subtle dew and straight green stems of grass cropped close to the the hill's scalp. If you look below these beams of green there is a fishnet stocking woven with silver beads and the gunmetal gray of the Earth below.

Upon the ground I set some of the most prized possesions in my house. There the crystal bowl from my grandmother's house that has sat on my piano until it collected an inch of dust. There is a black bear skull. Set along side there is a quilt that was made for me with my name. There is my coffee table book about hummingbirds and the pink pearl necklace I made for myself when I was thirteen. An ancient guitar and a newly tuned piano, sinking somewhat into the fresh Earth. A tiny carved quartz figurine of a donkey that my mom gave to me. Theres a shotgun, my collection of seashells, the pencil drawing that my great grandmother drew. There is an ivory elephant, a bike, a copy of Watchmen.

There's all these things.
I build a house, I call up the plot of Earth along the side of the hill and it builds me a dome encompassed in the thawing green lace of grass. Roses grow and twine the walls in delicate spare vines and wide flowers. The trees make me whicker furniture and cedar boughs create curtains. The wind blows through and settles the slate floor.

Now with a home, I could run around free to the drop of the hills and the billowing sky.

Join me.