Man Sitting 2

Propped up by shadow, a source of primary colour, wearing shades to adjust the brightness of the whole scene. Earth met sky and water and collaborated on an idea which he shared in. It was Sunday and, having left the God Complex behind with the rest of the big smoke, he had come here to rest and survey the scene. He'd dreamt this place into being a while back and had forgotten about it. he coughed out the last vestiges of the car fumes his hours were wreathed in. Pulled the deep stabbing splinters of the subway from his mind where they lay coiled like vipers. He began to purge himself. The air tasted great out here. The sweet aroma of the grass. The sharp cut glass scent of fresh water (really fresh, not that recycled city imitation). He let the air blow through his head and scatter the gridlocked thoughts which clogged there. Let the cool water sooth his eyes and heal the sting neon had inflicted. Let the ground's solidity root him to something he could never kneel down and touch in a place covered by concrete. A hammer to the convex mirror of crippled urban retina. Align the chakras. Touch the Dragon Lines. Pluck the leylines. Dream the dreaming and sing the songlines. Spirit singing in tune with the quiet. There's an unknown frequency here. Ah, becoming attuned. Awakening.