The white lightning of mystery arrows down through time, charging the dark soil with a link to life.
Oil hued beetles awaken in the depths and peer through the rise of a new dawn and smell the sweet aroma of answers.
But the Swifts ask the questions.
Dancing and dervishing through the lace of electrically charged light they weave their black bleak souls in to the tapestry of a burning canvas.
Yesterday they dallied with dinosaurs, today the defend the mid day sun.
Only they know the questions to ask to craft our tomorrow.
