(what is) THroNG

...color embraces the horizon (broken, leaking an ancient memory)...
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Absolute...stillness....yet a dawn. The first tendrils of a breeze stir a sense--which? Lifting, lifting...color embraces the horizon (broken, leaking an ancient memory). Unbidden, pressure rises and pushes us towards a thermocline as more of our senses awaken...a birth, shocking and raw...pressed ever harder, we puncture the icy membrane, begetting phantasmagoria....a featureless desert.....a ancient phonograph in a forgotten antique shop.....maddening sounds from the forest...a silver city in the clouds...speed gathers and builds...dimly aware of the chanting host, we merge with a rush of atmosphere and...and...CRACK...SPACE BREAKS...no longer floating...whirling and whistling we are caught in an eddy as the deafening sea rages past, screaming into the void...after dizzying eternity, we glide, descending, in an ever-expanding helix. Featherlike, the beach rises to our back, each grain of darkening sand imprinting a memory on the skin...another eternity...final rivulets depart, and we exhale into monochrome. Overhead a sparrow glides into dusk and stillness...absolute...

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