It’s the kind of sky that makes human’s bulimic – polemic, so the recommended spelling correction. This can’t detract from the wind nearer inland, or the sun by the coast.
High on a pole, coming down to near shoulder height when man climbs up the hills, one of them sits tempestuously awaiting the other’s return. A totem in some cultures, a thought in others.
Can we master and guide thought and memory? Or do they really guide us?
While alone yet neither can exist without the other. Certain bonds are for life, even if why or for how long stays unknown.
Symphonies on their existence have long been silenced, and thought and memory are now but a mere accepted fact, self-evident so it seems.