Spores

White fretting wavecaps and a wind-streaked sea.

Yellow-grey cloud wisps tumble north, harried by a warm wind.

The day has a beautiful, supernatural feel.

Later, I walk round the ponies’ fields.

A fat moon wallows, low down in clutching branches.

Stars are beginning to appear.

We may be the proximal delivery agents, but Gaia will seed herself.

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