A Demonic Bible Under The Willow Tree

The wind still chilled the creeping things that overwintered in the stems in the field over the fence, and so I did not worry about being bitten. Nonetheless, I lost my balance as I looked up at the infinity, unending and yet nearly empty.

I thought to myself, as the slender branches of the willow washed around me in the wind, tossed by the sails of their tender spring leaves, that the world is a demonic bible, a pretense of answers waiting for a question that is worthy of its attention.

It will grow. It will die. It will return. It will perish.

Give me no more prophets.