Trees : not a jungle

Q : We are not robozombies!

A : We are not robozombies!

As if each wavelength kissing the delicate surface of every single leaf imaginable were the microversion of the legacy epitomized in the stories about the perseverance of the quirky endurance on the infamous beach. Once upon a time. Not too far from what now is the 25 E Half All(e)y Café Club Museum, the cliff, echoing the archival material from the ancient factory walls can be heard in every bit of the frequency with which air mollycules bring messages of other climes : humid, dry, windy, calm.

As if each kiss being transformed into a signal spreading through the whole body of the trees were the same uncompromising anchorage in the bonding enhanced on a daily basis through the heritage ye kids whole-heartedly absorbed from the content sent via the swarmed passages. The endurance with which the ancient archival tales were being processed day in day out within the community of chancers called ye kids can be felt in the smell of each raindrop telling the welcoming leaves about the stormy journey through desertlike clouds.

How the rough grudges spreading throughout the bark to the roots and back to the softness of the greenery can be perceived in the language of ye kids hard-headedly persisting in telling anyone about either the words constituting their majestic language or the way they combined them, thereby generating communication, is still an enigma. How the fluffy curves of the airy sinuous pieces of information can be understood in the language of ye kids resisting bewildering noise threatening to obfuscate the precious tales preserved thanks to the confusion-proof factory walls, thereby engendering fruitful conversation, is still a mystery. To some, it seems like a call to deciphering. To others, however, it is just what it is.

Neither a call to solving nor neglect is what can be learned from airy mollicules emanating the glow of the dusk whispering in perseverance.