Smooth

In the time of the times.

In the turning of the time.

In the movement of the hands.

At first within the natural boundary, but then a breaking of that which surrounds you.

The stretching forth of my hands.

Like clockwork.

For you see movement out of bounds.

Movement outside the bounds.

Beyond the edge of the natural.

Over the edge.

I know it has been a harrowing experience.

For first comes the threshing.

Layer upon layer.

A separation of layers.

Movement amongst the layers.

For the mountain collapses like a sand dune.

For you pull away at what rests beneath and it all falls down before you.

For that which stood in the way, shall make a way.

New mechanics.

New mechanisms.

For that which struck you in the face now strikes that which lies before.

Round and round.

For it spins around and around, flat in places, and yet with spikes in others.

This is my version of the caterpillar.

The one with the huge wheels. The means to a new end.

The way towards a new end.

The means to flatten anything that stands in your way.

And yet this is not just for smoothness.

The spikes in the means of movement are for two purposes.

The first is for traction, to dig deep in order to ensure movement.

The second is to plough the ground to provide room for the seed.

For one movement leads to another.

The forward movement creates room for the seed to be planted and to flourish.

For this seed will be planted deep in order to grow tall.

For you shall look upon that which stood in your way and watch it fall to your feet.

For it shall be like sand, sand that fills the cracks and provides a solid base for the pavement that rests upon it.