@@¨@¨@@@@@                                          ¨@@¨@¨@¨@¨
¨@¨@¨¨@@@@                                          ¨¨@¨@¨@¨@¨
@@¨@¨@¨@@@                                          ¨@@¨@¨@¨@¨
¨@¨@¨@¨¨@@                                          ¨¨@¨@¨@¨@¨
@@¨@¨@¨@¨@                                          ¨@@¨@¨@¨@¨
¨@¨@¨@¨@¨¨ 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.   ¨@@¨@¨@¨@¨
¨@¨@¨@¨@¨¨                                          ¨¨@¨@¨@¨@¨
@@¨@¨@¨@¨@                                          ¨@@¨@¨@¨@¨
¨@¨@¨@¨@¨¨                                          ¨¨@¨@¨@¨@¨
@@¨@¨@¨@¨@                                          ¨@@¨@¨@¨@¨
¨@¨@¨@¨@¨¨                                          ¨¨@¨@¨@¨@¨