Silent jets at night.
This stuck-in-a-rut feeling – you never really know how low you can go. In fact, it hardly feels like you are in anything until, out of the blue, everything else looks higher in comparison – those shiny white stilettos, an ant’s dainty black feelers, faint green dots of moss on picket fences. A realisation like this takes a while to set in – unaffecting at first, fullblown the next.
The eyes see no end to the sky, but when all that is left are patches of white, a dull orange and hardly any blue, everything seems so out of reach, all out of hope.
There may be a whole universe (or some) out there for us to explore – but if its size fails all adjectives and changes prior discoveries to mere microscopic entities, while here at home we meddle and peddle without shame, making meaningless headlines and purposeless designs – where does that leave us, really?
Or rather, what does that make us?