Saturday, January 14, 2006

Memory Of Winter


The days of ago, silky strands of glossy fog hang in turbulent balance over the trees in there slumber, whisked away to there realm in there hidden hide away in the sky, there branches falling, for the weight of them they have carried for many years, leaving them to the ground they do as they are carried softly into there future. Looking around reveals the solitude, the loud hush that befalls this valley, the cold stillness that exudes from the ground, frosting the very air itself, as it dissipates into the atmosphere. It forgets the past, the myth that was spread around the land about itself, that it is harsh, and cold, wet, and disdainful. No. It rises above the rebuke of the un-understanding, the repressed at heart, for the insane love confusions. I miss the stillness of winter, but it will not last forever, for the feeble minded men of the land have taken there gift of delight and strewn there vile upon it. A small bird lands on the window seal, removing its ingestion for its young. There are no leaves two indicate where the branches are, so its flight pattern is reckless and chaotic, especial since its duty is for others. This bird, alone in the raising of young, alone, much like lives of ourselves, never noticed in the forest, just known to be there, and existing. However there is one who is the bird keeper, and who knows even them, and this ones ways are sure to prevail for the winter, but only after its destruction and rebuilding, infusing life again into a lifeless process of the gardner. Its lifelessness being taken from the supposed tenets of the garden. The rich detail of the wooden house that sits below the broad shadows of its boughs, a golden hue breaking apart in diffraction, and redefraction, as it passes each individual trunk and branch. A hawks cry breaks the still and resonates with echo as it follows the same path as the light breaking the horizon. Beautiful moment frozen in time, any second realizing it will vanish into the flow of time, forever being held in the memory alone. That time is now, when all passes into the flow forever.

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