Circles

The bloodhounds screech like hawks. A hooked beak is sorting its nest. A tree puts its arm out for the foot's crescent-hold. A survey is being conducted on the sub-ethereal gases; the poplars have been swept into the black river vacuum.

When the Delta Moon shines over the Fraxinus oleaceae, the foothills become bone-white cocoons ebbing in the footmass; the thunder of exuvium.