Bathed in the sound of springtime peepers, he thought of the simplicity of love and the complication of life.
O' that things could be made simple.
Breathing in the heat of a mid-summer night and gazing at the moon and stars, he thought of the embrace, the entanglement, the spent energy of lovers.
O' that things could be made that simple.
The wind and colors, the cleanliness of autumn air, he thought of the passage of time and yearned for that exchange of Yin for Yang, Yang for Yin; his heart beat faster.
O' that things could be made that simple.
The winter snow, the absense of an open fire, no sustanance, an empty hearth. He is slowly dying.
O' that things could be made that simple.

Comments

one said…
beautifully written.

say, this is a great blog!
cape said…
really loved this tim...we of the big brain DO make things harder than they need to be..and also simpler than they should be..