(no subject)

The path becomes too clear, if anything. By establishing an increasingly efficient system of roads, phone and electrical lines, pipes, aqueducts and fountains, gas stations, giant roadside dinosaurs and inns the evil one long ago made success at the quest impossible. Every knight now dies in a hospital, on the second floor in the back, a room chosen because of its view over the sloping roofs of the final town between the last two of which a fine needle of green shimmers with promise of details withheld, motions of leaf fronting leaf fronting leaf before strange things now lost. Lost and yet everywhere around us, even here. But only to have been seen behind leaves behind leaves.

The branch with the first spray of sprays jogs up and back down, as to say, "like this? or like this?" Merely lenses through which you'd see themselves, were it not for how much of your own self slipped in sometime past.

The world is still a forest even now. So say the passing satellites that spit us football news.