“She could shut out the whole world, including herself.”

I’m still in the forest, darkening

My roots go down to the depths of the world, through earth dry with brick, and damp earth, through veins of lead and silver. I am all fibre. All tremors shake me, and the weight of the earth is pressed to my ribs.

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How suddenly the woods have turned again. I feel like Daphne, standing with my arms outstretched to the season, overtaken by color, crowned with the hammered gold of leaves.

But days, too, of the wild blackness of great autumn storms, followed by dank, wet, streaming nights when there was witch-laughter in the pines and fitful moans among the mainland trees.

They are coy, these sisters, Autumn and Death, and they both have learnt what it is to wait. (…) their world is a world where a blackened sun shines like ebony over the floes of a shadeless ice, and no wind blows.

my hair trailing its underground scents my eyes heavy variations of darkness