Clinician's Lament

On the embers of Winter, moored to a biting tide; crystalline flora arc towards the star fissure.

A project that began as my take on Winter Synth, however I abandoned it after a loss of inspiration. Time passed, and we forgot the taste of bread.

Perhaps the distance between now and then was enough to see it with new ears. After some spit and polish I still hear this as Winter Synth, a harsh, unforgiving winter in which the bleakness of the squall obscures the landscape and the passing of time.

The earth is brittle and I cannot hear my mouth.