Everything. It was happening to everything.
The trees turned into ash, and the swamp water evaporated into the sky. The sky, in turn, cracked, and little pieces of it chipped off but never hit the ground; where did they go, when they fell? Flowers curled up into themselves, and the buck sat at the center of this and slept. Even in his dream, he slept, and he was unable to find the kind of freedom it seemed everything else was rushing towards. He slept, able only to watch what was going on around him, from some indefinite place above his body. How dearly he wished to become part of the everything and nothing that had unraveled around him. How could he, stuck way out there, a spectator? He couldn't call out, couldn't reach down.
How he wished for someone to help him, or even tell him, how he could also be undone.
The trees turned into ash, and the swamp water evaporated into the sky. The sky, in turn, cracked, and little pieces of it chipped off but never hit the ground; where did they go, when they fell? Flowers curled up into themselves, and the buck sat at the center of this and slept. Even in his dream, he slept, and he was unable to find the kind of freedom it seemed everything else was rushing towards. He slept, able only to watch what was going on around him, from some indefinite place above his body. How dearly he wished to become part of the everything and nothing that had unraveled around him. How could he, stuck way out there, a spectator? He couldn't call out, couldn't reach down.
How he wished for someone to help him, or even tell him, how he could also be undone.
