¨@¨¨@@¨@¨@                                          ¨@¨@¨@¨@@¨
@@¨@¨@¨@¨@                                          ¨@¨@¨@¨¨@¨
¨@¨@¨@¨@¨@                                          ¨@¨@¨@¨@@¨
@@¨@¨@¨@¨@                                          ¨@¨@¨@¨¨@¨
¨@¨@¨@¨@¨@                                          ¨@¨@¨@¨@@¨
@@¨@¨@¨@¨@ i  follow the tire tracks west. they  go ¨@¨@¨@¨¨@¨
¨@¨@¨@¨@¨@ parallel  with  the  railroad,  with its ¨@¨@¨@¨@@¨
@@¨@¨@¨@¨@ endless mirrors  looking  kinda oily. an ¨@¨@¨@¨¨@¨
¨@¨@¨@¨@¨@ incredible power bound there... there's  ¨@¨@¨@¨@@¨
@@¨@¨@¨@¨@ a wire fence to  separate the two roads. ¨@¨@¨@¨¨@¨
¨@¨@¨@¨@¨@                                          ¨@¨@¨@¨@@¨
@@¨@¨@¨@¨@ even  though there's a foggy quality  to ¨@¨@¨@¨¨@¨
¨@¨@¨@¨@¨@ the air, the path  i  follow is glowing. ¨@¨@¨@¨@@¨
@@¨@¨@¨@¨@ a  yellow-green  moss   has  taken  hold ¨@¨@¨@¨¨@¨
¨@¨@¨@¨@¨@ where  the   machines  who  made   these ¨@¨@¨@¨@@¨
@@¨@¨@¨@¨@ tracks once disturbed the clover  field. ¨@¨@¨@¨¨@¨
¨@¨@¨@¨@¨@                                          ¨@¨@¨@¨@@¨
@@¨@¨@¨@¨@ we're off  the  season  when  the  birds ¨@¨@¨@¨¨@¨
¨@¨@¨@¨@¨@ sing beautifully. these days  it's  just ¨@¨@¨@¨@@¨
@@¨@¨@¨@¨@      screeches, or calls for help.       ¨@¨@¨@¨¨@¨
¨@¨@¨@¨@¨@                                          ¨@¨@¨@¨@@¨
@@¨@¨@¨@¨@ i  think  of   the  jackdaw   i   maimed ¨@¨@¨@¨¨@¨
¨@¨@¨@¨@¨@   yesterday. i fear the dreaming gate.   ¨@¨@¨@¨@@¨
@@¨@¨@¨@¨@                                          ¨@¨@¨@¨¨@¨
¨@¨@¨@¨@¨@                                          ¨@¨@¨@¨@@¨
@@¨@¨@¨@¨@                                          ¨@¨@¨@¨¨@¨
¨@¨@¨@¨@¨@                                          ¨@¨@¨@¨@@¨
@@¨@¨@¨@¨@                                          ¨@¨@¨@¨¨@¨