If one deigns to walk in a park in Ohio during the winter, you will plot a course through temporary bones.
You will find temporary bones reaching every which way: reaching toward the water, the sky, toward other bones, toward the ground, toward you.
Your journey will not be without classification issues. There are temporary bones that have lost their connect to the earth, but not Earth. This is more of a permanent state of things.
But in mere months, when this bit of place is recast in new skin, it will remind us of the time of temporary bones, past and to come.
Sometimes, you will feel enclosed by temporary bones, which, I hope you know, is a multilayer type of analogy.
Here is a reality-based example of what you will find: temporary bones angling creepily over human walking paths.
Soon, headless horseman will come stake their claims to the myths of this path.
Yet. There is still some green. Defying the times of temporary bones.
The geese are a sign that this time of temporary bones is coming to an end. They hiss their prophecies so.
Though maybe their hiss is more of challenge, for they seek to re-conquer both land and water.
For the geese know what we humans do well.
Thankfully, spring does not hiss. Only the geese.
The time of temporary bones sometimes coincides with the time of temporary too-much-water.
Here, green struggles but is yet present, like tiny green snorkels.
We too have our version of temporary bones.
We have always been jealous of nature.
If it wasn’t for the time of temporary bones, you wouldn’t know that some bones are beautiful. Woven slowly to make shapes that defy our own sense of order.
Anything temporary is actually quite nice. I mean, if it’s good for the powerful immortals of Greece and Rome, then why wouldn’t it be alright for the likes of us?
Plus, the geese seem to admire it.