The complexity, simplicity, and irony, is not lost on you

In the Midas Section

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The air, without which you can not live and breathe, is given freely by the voiceless trees, of which you daily engender, no second thoughts, affinity, or comraderie, because they do not speak, loudly, like we seem to so desperately need. Yet still they sweep your hair. Yet still they caress your ears. In the gentle leave breeze. Yet still they soothe your stress. Yet still they collapse your fears. In the language of sun’s undress. How every branch is crooked. How every shape, entirely, and uniquely, unapologetically, quietly, and noetically