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&†//-¨¨¨¨¨ 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. ¨-»/†††&&¶
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