The pin fell down from Glasborough Heights, and in the sand compassed a frame jagged with thorns.
Thin ripples knit outward, a magnifying glass close-up of a squarish vinyl. The brother passes vaguely, but on his line, and two sisters further out; in the distance, one who is of unknown connection, but the skid of their progress is clear to the hearing. Streams of measured movement unfulfilled complain in silted furrows, ready to contract again towards the centre – but so long as any go out, there is no closing.

The buzz of tangibility in the haze that receives the passers; lights rotate, airport of the streets, of the unseen under foot and shoe. A badge with a little glisten and much needle is given.
Following into the haze, wide in its obscurity, the lines are lost, or increase until all is laid and progresses on one line.

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/12/14