Maps

18 Apr

The Year of Black Clothing

What a strange place this is,

To wake with birdsong at dawn and sleep with the sound of sirens alarming through the night.

Where whales fill their stomachs with plastic more often than food, and Polaris is drowned out by our own, more powerful lights.

How are we to know which way is North?

Things are changing and we have changed them. Roll up the maps and throw them away, burn them in fires that lick the sky. They are of no use to us here. This territory is unnavigated. We must find our own way now.

There are creatures here so large their voices will explode your lungs; so powerful they’d crush you with a single blow.

Seek their council, and bow in respect. Listen. Be humble, be still.

We were taught wrong, and the ones who taught us were too. This is not a competition,

but a dance.

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