Some stream of consciousness

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Soaking in the sun the other day,
the pores were drinking wildly, a hopeless exhale of heat.The ears were won by a smell I knew from childhood: my grandmother’s porch smelled of old wood, back in the days when both she and her house were alive…
I felt the blood of grass on my feet,as I crushed their lives in merciless stepping. The garden still held my shape as I had lain motionless in the green ripples for hours.
Birds were passing rhythmically,with wings like airplanes,abandoning the sky for better skies elsewhere.
Looking up, the sharp edges of the horizon aligned like lighthouses,watching over the quiet within the noise.
I slowly exhale until the beats of my heart match the beats of the leaves of grass,before I leave.