The wind presses down on the tall grasses, playing with light and with shadow. Wood lay in array; in wait of its fate.
Wisdom leaves no visible trace and love melts the most hardened hearts.
Her touch reminds me that time can stand still, that it is only a word meant to convey a tool; a form of measurement.
It reminds one that the past is only a memory and the future nonexistant.

Comments

Loralee Choate said…
That looks like ART! Lovely words as well!

:D
De.vile said…
How frail is this idea of life innit? I could twist it in a few words or you could lose it in prolonged eternity?
Pat Paulk said…
And we spend out time in between worrying about both! Excellent write!
Rowan said…
My goodness, is that your wood pile?

I think of these very thoughts often...what is real? Am I awake or still asleep, and in that case, Is the present really happening now? Or am I even born yet. How do we define reality, since it is really such a personal thing...
Capegirl said…
wow tim that was really rather beautiful. sad and true and wondrous all at the same time.