#ontariogothic

Under the brush lives eyes of invisible flame. Following, witnessing, slipping into the nothingness between the cracks of the forested land. Within the stature of the forest is an eye consecrated with wet moss silk, a dressing of the invisible regards.

I burn with the witches spreading flame through all the trees that sowed doubt into the land. It was where the betrayal left husks for a new life to begin to breath again. It is in the whispers in the dark, in the sound of the creek rushing in the night. Allow the owls to sing deep within the lines, they will bring and create the will of the leafless Birch. Sleep softly till the ground beckons your name.

I can see only a few kilometers west the rest is an inky black seeping to all that lives. They have emerged, a spark within a flame. Forest Gods carry the knowing of solice for the pines arch west. The oracle of souliec rest has spoken, the moss has awakened.

Tendered to the trees forever surrounded by their woody pulse. Entangled ment to the oaks as they spread through out your hair. You're new Armour a compilation of honour, grace, and the essences of a whole seasons worth of harden lichen. Darker it becomes as the trees twist further in, the last hints if sunlight slipping through. Sleep with echos of strong-willed light for even hibernation comes to an end.

Their lives a house within a band of Oak trees. A place where the darkness mourns the relics of a high time long ago. A crumbling world barely contained by four walls. Sunlight encompasses a flat black roof top, it meads over self as wires of dust floats through the air. Forever fortune within glimmers of light.