Valley of the Bubbles

Valley of the Bubbles

Lavender stalks stand tall
Among grass blades which cut the air currents
All is cool and cold

Uninterrupted waves of calm wind pushing against the stalks’ broad ends
In a place where trees grow few and far in between
Yet grow tall and strong to withstand the constant wind

It is the result of the ire, its complex auras of ascending scents
The crops waving with the currents
Relocating each drop of mist to somewhere else

Where spiderwebs catch dreams in twisted string contraptions
Hanging off of the branches of the strong trees
Swaying in between the
Entrancing voids of a landscape

It drops gingerly and sporadically
Seeping into the pores
Leaving behind the dust
On my face

It evaporates slowly to express its love
It’s joined and combines, asphyxiates the cold
It’s cool, the liquid
Purity is my sustenance

Then they lift, rising and filled with guile
Above the treetops they fly
The spiders watch, and the bubbles get caught
In the iridescent silk strings

Now it adorns my face like a taboo mark
Singling me out as one and bold
In the fields of legend
And the tales of old

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