TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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05.10.06, wednesday evening
You can't see the sky anymore while walking the path to the beach. A canopy, green and windsung, had unfurled overnight when the treetipbuds had finally burst free. The glossy leaves of the sycamore lost their ruby flush while the cuckoo bird lurked and swallows zipped above daisy-dappled fields grazed by bemused teen bulls. Jimmy spotted the local fox as it snuck into the pecking grounds for a late afternoon massacre. All the earth is ready for its death and rebirth.