JC Thomson

Each day is an improvement on the last. Time moves on as quickly as it stands still. The Earth circles on its axis each year and the seconds silently tick by. The frosty membrane on the uncut grass lies glistening in the late morning shine. The heavy darkness which precedes causes nothing but hurt and decay. Sullen, ashen faces appear through the blackness as it slowly fades into grey, leaving the green entity that has come out to play. I walk through cold, warm-looking corridors with a mixture of fear and comfort. My home is this black chasm and all that encompasses her. I am this corridor. An observer of the life and loves of its inhabitants. I feel cocooned by every inch of her. She is my guidance. My authority.