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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
3:15 AM
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?
7:27 AM
Pat Paulk said…
And we spend out time in between worrying about both! Excellent write!
5:48 PM
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...
10:36 AM
Capegirl said…
wow tim that was really rather beautiful. sad and true and wondrous all at the same time.
5:33 PM
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