Posted by Emolia
on October 29th, 2012 at 10:12 PM
There are times I feel like the earth is talking, that everything talks in it's own way. I feel as though even the wind has a voice and language. It has stories it's told me, and times it's seen. Every scratch on a bone is a story, which is why I love collecting bones. The trees tell stories of time, they tell time. Every last blade of grass has a voice to me. But the trick is listening to the voices. I often have a hard time. The voices I hear most are the wind and rain. The night and bones. They speak to me like no human ever will.
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