There were some wild women walking in a forest. One stopped to smell the roses. One stopped to hug a tree. One scratched the lichens. She wanted to make some ink. They hummed, spoke as their voices echoed through stone circles. Their footsteps reverberated through the forest like cicadas. The leaves crushed under their feet like mortar grating berries to make medicine. They walked and talked in symphonies. They spotted flowers and trees and called them their names. Golden But

language informs our thinking, maybe even our feeling whistling languages drums that beat hearts that flow and eyes that see spikes on a surface, both high and low is this thinking? is this feeling? inputs - electric, chemical and optic cultured cells on an electrode plate signals of memory abate is this thinking? is this feeling? sensory worlds collide in this extraction of semantics from seeming non-beings trying to become a play of words movements in environment

Artwork by Sudhiksha S A Haunted Heart 🫀 Ghosts lurk in every corner of my heart some old, some new they hide behind crevices tapping...

If this perhaps was a song; moving clouds hide and unhide the sight of songbirds lapping over the clouds a pair, red and yellow disappear...

Critical thinking is a step towards making sense of the world we live in. Beyond initial observations, pondering and ceaseless...