Rumpling

I'm alone standing at the tip of the slow-dying year, the universe breaking in waves at my feet, planets whirling about my head, rumpling my hair in the wind that rushes by, without giving an answer that would fill the abyss.

Of course, these rumplings are not left obvious to our eyes. Whilst the earth is wrapping its old coat about it, the busy hands of the sun are smoothing down the creases—by heat and frost, rain and wind, waves and rivers[…]