Patameth

    I look ahead to the lights.    The air is dark.  The sun is high but the air is dark with dirt and mist and ghosts.  The wind does not blow, the mist stays.  The air is dark and I can only see the City, far away, glowing neon.    The earth crunches under my feet, any softness gone from the fire.  It frustrates any time you think about it, for me mostly when I find something neat half-buried or when I need to drive a tent stake into it.  Though it makes you happy when you do not think about it, when you are walking on it and your feet do not sink in.  In the sandy places your feet sink in.  In the rocky places they hurt.  When the dirt

    I look ahead to the lights.    The air is dark.  The sun is high but the air is dark with dirt and mist and ghosts.  The wind does not blow, the mist stays.  The air is dark and I can only see the City, far away, glowing neon.    The earth crunches under my feet, any softness gone from the fire.  It frustrates any time you think about it, for me mostly when I find something neat half-buried or when I need to drive a tent stake into it.  Though it makes you happy when you do not think about it, when you are walking on it and your feet do not sink in.  In the sandy places your feet sink in.  In the rocky places they hurt.  When the dirt