Year of yin: lying fallow

February blew through like a dust storm blindingly hot, chaotic, and brief. There are pieces of it in every crevice in my body and buried deep in the roots of my hair and teeth. Excavating my remains from the sudden dry blaze of February is not an option, we have become one red bare plane as far as the eye can see. As the night lays cooly across my temples I can feel my heart rattling in my rib cage like wind through the bones of hollowed out trees bleached white in the sun. Fear abates as stillness of night falls in the badlands. It takes a sturdy kind of folk to navigate this arid soil. I’ve been blessed with many who have receive my rough and raspy heart with boundless love and affection that nourishes my tired dusty soul. Road worn I’ve seen better days. Tireless heat and relentless wind have all but scorched me into the earth. In times of crisis survival is the main focus, when shadows are long and time short. Buried waist deep in the parched dunes time seems to hang frozen in the crystal clear night, but just above all the toil in the inky black there is an infinite sea of stars, that is just waiting to be wished upon. 


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