Cycles of
time
Sparrows in meadows are greeting the morning sun...emanating songs of love...harmonizing the whole atmosphere with pleasing sounds of nature's own musical tunes.... Eagles are spreading their wings of freedom and pride in the vast azure sky... Soaring high through heavenly pearly gates...marking moments in time with distinguished beauty...manifested on portraits stored in images ,where every image is a masterpiece portraying an inner feeling of flowing tranquility. Dafoddils and violets in rows weave flowery rugs weaving a tapestry of mythological pictures, felt by the only ones who understand what is meant to fall in love with the cycles of time. Aromas hypnotize the self, sanctify it with serenity and passion for life. Butterflies kiss the curly leaves leaving their prints ,defining the existence with an irresistible magnetic attraction .
Clouds manifesting splendid cathedrals connect the highest and the horizon with majestic artistry and beauty. Purified visions of the morning dew shower the body of life with freshness and sacred awareness of the new day.Waves roll back and forth sending messages of continuity and never-ending echos. Sun beams igniting the living with arrows of warmth and powerful impacts of pleasant feelings. The gentle breeze minimize the agony of the universe,stabilizing it with whole hearted harmony and visibility.Musical instruments played by nature's cords perform a special melody praising the sun,the sea,the meadows and the mountains with hymns heard only by earth's anointed ones.
The night and day embrace each other at the touch of dawn...The morning star twinkles at the morning crystal light... Nightly whispers are replaced by songs uttered by facts of life.Reflections of daily living are mirrored in human minds in forms of actions. Smiles are born in one spot while sorrow is buried in another.life is conceived in a woman's womb while death is engulfing another body.Laughs are heard from a distance while tears are seen so near.Happiness is measured by moments of joy while melancholia strikes another soul with thorns and thistles.
Caught in a rhythm that may be as old as time, The cycles of time have no rest, yet they sooth and sing us all to sleep except eccentrics like me hunting before dawn --- for whatever kept secret from any being.
Therese
copyright,1999
