#432 The Murderous Sky

The hillsides are crammed
with rocks, patches of snow
contained between them. They
didn't kill the birds. Or bird,
one only, but cloned or repli-
cated, & placed with mathe-
matical precision within each
quadrant of at least the rectangle
we can see & likely elsewhere.
The sky may be the murderer;
but the painter is its accomplice.