Kindle Yonder Window Break

Slung-cast to blue, in twilights' continuum, the long hour of dawn to dusk-- this is the season for the  most Sasquatch of sweaters, as the chill descends, showing the seeds of its own reversal. The violet already signals readiness to return, even as the dimming wraps mittens on the views. Blues out of sight and Cascades fortressed in crystaline, we dream an escape to deep Mojave of picture window vistas, of incandescent clarity, of rockets red-glare. What is it like when the creation of imagination slips bounds? This current, the meditation and conveyance. Cut.