Ferodo felt the hammer in his trousers drag as he walked toward it. Bright shafts of light bent around the sky and came bouncing of the anvil like kind streams not leaving not a trace of dust behind. More of a wave of light than the scattering of pain in his head right now. The hammer strong in his pocket was leaning toward a menace of the past being.
Compelled toward the bronze lug landed there protecting it’s history ball, with the ark of the ball sitting in the sky of the dry inner clearing bright. Rain would not come, it stayed shy in the clouds at night, and in the day, it barely peeked out with droplets on the bronze arms of the ark luggy thing there in the clearing bright. The pull on the hammer of the gun was strong. The trigger of the gravitational angle like a compass direction finder, finding the clearing like a gravity lens. The kind of lens with a focal line, not focal length. The kind of lens which turned a single point of light above the lug into a set of bright suns scattered around the clearing. A set of points about the ark geometry of mad men in the world of clearing light. This lug was a tether point, where sky hooks could bend their cables around the level of the ground on the dreaming point in the clearing. Where attached at the sky, with satellites whizzing past, were lives in tremblance and shake given up in ecstatic growth of mind. Grown too big for the earth and it’s lives, but passed on the ancient heavens and out, with a mind tether to the lug on the ground. The lug of conscience and lives past, with a memory permanent in it’s gravitational hold.
Before when the dinosaurs ruled and wandered around in brief despair at the going out of their sun, and hoping that the lug and the tether ball would remain in the clearing once the clearing of their darkening world came.
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