Wow how the sun does go in, to plagiarize myself,- which is a silly thing anyhow tojudge,-why should someone not be able to plagiarize themselves, or imitate themselves?- to hell with it- the sun goes down like a neon beet into a secretly sewn pocket somewhere on the other sides of fields and hills. We are far and far and far in now, - but I have lost the regular caution and worry and don’t mind. What comes shall come, - and it’s not that late anyhow. Look at them run, - man it’s like two acorns or laser beams, two sideways hail storm artifacts or marbles racing across the way. A bat is disturbed from its resting place and flies over us, only by a few feet, silhouetted against the purple-blue-dark orange sky. It goes like that, - and soon we walk the walk out from all of the verdant wild grasses, the little labyrinthine pathways and brambly parts too, from the hay stack, the tall and overarching birch tree solitary like the ghost of an old and faithful soldier true to a cause, from the fences on the perimeter where feral vines hold and grown and meander along and as long as they can manage until the autumnal weather begins to curtail and then stop this idea. On the way back the radio has a woman that talks about the akashic record, - its design, purpose, content and context. There is no train, only the memory of such, and there is no Johnny Law for he has gone home to bed or to fulfill his night shift somewhere else.
There is no need for all that anyhow, because the only law then is the cosmic order and rhythm of the firmament and fields.