¨§¨§¨§¨§§¨                                          §¨§¨¨§¨§¨§
¨§¨§¨§¨¨§¨                                          §¨§¨§§¨§¨§
¨§¨§¨§¨§§¨                                          §¨§¨¨§¨§¨§
¨§¨§¨§¨¨§¨                                          §¨§¨§§¨§¨§
¨§¨§¨§¨§§¨                                          §¨§¨¨§¨§¨§
¨§¨§¨§¨¨§¨ 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.   §¨§¨¨§¨§¨§
¨§¨§¨§¨¨§¨                                          §¨§¨§§¨§¨§
¨§¨§¨§¨§§¨                                          §¨§¨¨§¨§¨§
¨§¨§¨§¨¨§¨                                          §¨§¨§§¨§¨§
¨§¨§¨§¨§§¨                                          §¨§¨¨§¨§¨§
¨§¨§¨§¨¨§¨                                          §¨§¨§§¨§¨§