Howard Bruner

Unido: 18.abr.2017 Última actividad: 29.nov.2020

The woods are filled with flurries of plate-sized buttery leaves, released with a breeze, that sail, swirl, and scoot through the long hall of darkened boles. The floor is pandemonium – a carpet of gold with orange and red shot through the moss, grass, and fern greens. Banks of sunny maple and thickets of bloody wild cherry emit their own light in deeps of evergreen boughs. Gray logs jut up from soft thick moss cushions, spotted with saprophytic crusts and gregarious clumps of bright tiny mushrooms. Small querulous birds bounce from the top of one fir to the next – staying for chatter and probe then exploding out to coalesce down the line on a bursting cone crop swaying in the breeze. Soft white sun reflects gray shine on branches that draw a sparse dendritic web across the openings of the glade. To pass through absorbing the riot, breathing the deep fat air, one moves as a fragment of the swirling paradise. Each short gust of leaf showers triggers more than the corporeal - peeling open perceptions imbued with glow and spirit. The forest sits innocent waiting in vast swaths of perfection for visits from acolytes looking for open pathways and new realization.

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