>>Cove

You are strolling on the sand, water slowly lapping at your side.
The night is dark and still, a new moon hangs idly above you, concealed in blackness by its renewing cycle.
A dense fog lazily rolls around your body, condensing droplets upon your shoulders and sleeves as you walk.

A faint sound of a distant machine working quietly fills the lower register, its tone synchronized with the gentle hum of the vast landscape between you.
You sense unrest, but it is tired and sleepy. The kind of restlessness implicit of a long journey. Not a cause of distress, but as if the energy of it’s labours go unexpressed.

With each step, the sand bitterly migrates around your soles, as if to avoid being crushed.
There is no one else here. Not a living thing within your scope or sense.
The beach extends for miles, gracefully ascending inland into smooth undulations that could easily be grassy hills.

The air is laden with salt so heavy, each breath includes a slight tingle, enough to overwhelm the sharp chill that accompanies it.
You inhale deeply, and your cough echoes along the dulcet tide.

As you turn away from the hilled silhouettes and face the ocean, a calmness envelopes you.
Like entering a lukewarm bath, the calm radiates from your temple, and slowly courses down your body, clenching your toes as it exits into the ground.
Lapping against your knees, the water’s icey grasp welcomes your venture.
You tread lightly at first, but smooth ripples afoot encourage you to remove your shoes, followed shortly by your other clothing.

Naked, you turn once more to gaze towards the once-invisible hills to see their silhouettes glowing the faintest amber-gold, each ebb of light slightly stronger than the last.

Arms raised at your sides, you tread backwards slowly into the waves.
As you are consumed by the sea, the glowing continues, uninterrupted by your presence.
You smile, and take a final breath.
Holding it deeply in your chest, you close your eyes.

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Autumn Rust

The background steadily dissolves away as your eyes are drawn into the centre.
Towards that single point of absolute investing focus.
There are no ‘other things’ or ‘different perspectives’ in this world.

Just a freshly-framed picture, every second of every day.
Each one appearing crisp and bold with definitive contrast, before a point is selected, and the periphery begins to exponentially corrode into that ubiquitous rusty blur that surrounds everything we cherish within the borders of our perception.

No amount of rustoleum can prevent this.
No quantity of refurbishments can lift its oxidizing growth once initialized.
All is consumed.
All, except that tiny moment.
That ever-resistent speck of data among a memorial sea of autumn-hued forgottens.

It lives on in each as a reflection of our own time-honored perceptions, and to remind you that there is always more than what we care to remember seeing.

Always another page to the chapter, another side to leaf accompanied by another insect we have yet to meet, but never will.

For he does not exist, this beyond-beckonable bug is yet another riddle pasted upon the mind’s crumbling prologue.
To know his name would be to forget the greeting card of another, as much as one cannot catch two trains at once, no matter how ‘on-time’ they may be.

The question is not ‘which bug do i want to meet’ and it never will be.
It is simply, “Do i wish to meet this bug?”

To which there is only ever one true option. Only one that requires us to invest time and energy into its manifestation.

“Yes”

(BUBBLE)

Submerged in a bubble, a thin prismatic film refracting the light into its hollow volume within.
The red checkered floor tiles, some pieces overlapping to reveal a blank and slightly  chipped fibre-board floor.
There, off in the distance across the bubble, a small metal valve is lodged directly through the bubble’s reflecting radius.
This is where the gas is injected.
There are many gases.
Some of these gases have both benevolent and malevolent properties, if applied correctly.
I am not sure who controls the admission.  Perhaps there is a red button somewhere.
One thing guaranteed throughout, they are po-tent. Always applicable, seldom renegotiable and always a value guarantee.
Or your money back. Within 24 hours of purchase.

Some eras ago, there was a day when the injection never came.
The button-presser just kept waiting and waiting.
The cities fell first into tyranny.
1 full day of civilization rending, page turning historical devolution.
Starting with the latest chapter.
Chapter 26: “This chapter is incomplete. Please complete chapter to see review”

But that’s kind of o.k, really.
Chapter reviews were never an accurate reminder of the trials at the time, or the adversity overcome.
As one looks back, the once real becomes surreal, changing forever within the frame of your mind’s limits.

There is only one time that exists.
That is this moment your spending right now.
The ever-present Present presenting itself presently.
Trust Master Oogway on this one:
Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called the present”.