Mist gathers before, beside, and behind me, as if to block my onward path even while shying away from my movements. The cool earth lives, breathing words of magic and wonder across an endless sky of formless color. She welcomes the gentle step of my bare feet as I dance across her skin, and I delight in the warmth of her pusle, quick with the coming of spring.
Like a child I race and dance to catch the misty butterflies that I see, not caring that they would come to me if I held still, but enjoying the fine game that the snowy angels play.
Could this eternal dawn speak, the most beautiful stories would be felt in a wordless song that fills the heart with echoing whispers of the boundless innocence and hope of youth. Instead we must all tell of our own, speak of the blossoming purity of newborn sunlight with a voice that merely shadows the joy that we knew. I have always had the words, yet when I am called to speak the truth of the heart, I find that I can only listen. |
