12/03/2019
Floyd
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Berntropfen sleeping on snowcovers in pine fog anaesthesia
What are you doing in the woods this time of year, the winter solstice? The shadows of the day's past, the light coming to an end so early, the horizon shimmers dim dark blue still through shadow columns of trunks, blankets of snow really dampen any sound. Aren't you trying to get away?
Dazed by eucalyptic mists of narcotic fir needles, you stare into the dark at surreal patterns, breathing the menthol-cooled smell of snow. A thin cloth still sleeps over all this, from far away incense wafts like a promise to you, of security and warmth. Half an hour you stand like this, rooted between the trees, before Bernschnuppen begin to fall from the sky, as in impressionistic dreams.
These burst in fog now musk, dark red spicy and warming, mix under the firn heavy myrrh resin, projecting herb sweets. A little later then you smell a distant fire perhaps coming from a log cabin, but you linger in the musk fir resin, four five hours escaping the truth, remembering in spring, cooling in summer, throwing its shadows in autumn - on the winter, in which at the solstice Berntropfen sleep on snow covers.
Dazed by eucalyptic mists of narcotic fir needles, you stare into the dark at surreal patterns, breathing the menthol-cooled smell of snow. A thin cloth still sleeps over all this, from far away incense wafts like a promise to you, of security and warmth. Half an hour you stand like this, rooted between the trees, before Bernschnuppen begin to fall from the sky, as in impressionistic dreams.
These burst in fog now musk, dark red spicy and warming, mix under the firn heavy myrrh resin, projecting herb sweets. A little later then you smell a distant fire perhaps coming from a log cabin, but you linger in the musk fir resin, four five hours escaping the truth, remembering in spring, cooling in summer, throwing its shadows in autumn - on the winter, in which at the solstice Berntropfen sleep on snow covers.
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