Visit to the Fox

Clouds hanging low and heavy. A woman reading from prayer book at top shrine. Distant smell of smoke. Fog rising up to richly lit skies. Orange violet cinnamon.

Now to every single passerby, numbers dwindling toward the top, thousands of steps in tow. Bowing to the moment bowing to the leaves bowing to my self 

Palm reader with a space heater at the base.





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