i woke this morning to chase the fog and its obscurity.
that gypsy dog wished me luck, her eyes begging me to take her.
the roads are thick with the albedineity of a fallen sky that nestles in between brick and branch. this is probably the only time i enjoy the ambiguity, the mystery in my journey, taking turns where the paths lay unseen. but the sun was too fast for me, and dissipated secrecy.
i found myself in winter garden, named after a season we do not claim. where honey and orange intertwine and settle in abandoned crevices. the melancholic great lake apopka broods far beyond me. i might as well be looking across the atlantic.
what surprises the earth unveils when wandering in the unknown.