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Waimea: red water (November 17, 2010)

In by Fannie on November 26, 2010 at 6:58 pm

It’s raining.  It’s dribbling, dripping, pinging, collecting, carving, eroding, freshening, quieting, soaking, and scrambling. It tattoos itself onto the canyon walls and into the bedrock there, carving its initials into the saprolites and soils above.  Soon there is blood: the blood of the land runs from these wounds and over them in a ruddy rogue that only gains in intensity as the rains prick harder and for a long time.  Since when did you take blood thinners?  Drop, drip: the tattoo artist is done; his work finished; the pelting, pricking pain, over.  The blood flow slows to a muddied coagulation.

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