Liquid darkness is her shroud
Where once lovers walked.
Fish swim like birds over her deck.
Hubris writ large in the stars.
The stories never remembered;
The tiny child in third class.
Hiding under a now-rusty bed
The cameras found her doll.
Rushing from the warmth of my home to a cold car. Minus twenty-two with the wind chill. Ten minutes late for work. Time is always beating faster than the desired pace. My heart plays catch-up with the beat.
Sometimes, for whatever reason, I look up into the sky. Sometimes, for whatever reason, I have a moment beyond time. Maybe within it? A few moments of appreciation when even work must wait. The beat slows.
The day is just waking up, and the colour of the sky in contrast with the skyline makes me glad to be alive. When the snow arrives, the morning sky takes on a pastel hue; a contrast of cool blue and warm pink. An especially lucky morning is one that has seen Jack Frost sugar coat the trees with a crystallized gloss. As the sun rises out of the orange and pink warmth that it promises, the trees shimmer with a thousand rainbow hues. Each crystal echoing the sun’s light; a praise of Source.
If a morning like this was an orchestra. The sun would be a drum; the slow beat that reminds us of our mother’s heart. Life. The thousand lights dancing in the glow of the sun would be the mirth of the bow on a violin; perhaps the reverential pluck of a harp. Harmony, like individual life- affirming place and existence.
To witness a morning like this is to believe in magic; the spirit of goodness and giving that weaves through the season. The beauty of community. I will carry this feeling with me the rest of the day.
Posted in response to: http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/12/02/weekly-writing-challenge-snapshots/