Thursday, May 1, 2008

The Music Plays Across The Open Sky


The music plays across the open sky, whistling through the old, gnarled trees of the forest, across the rocky crags of the mountain tops, and worming through the valleys below.

If I listen hard enough I can hear the long, low lament of time even from here, so far from its beginning, even further from its end.

On an endless summer day, two children run along the beach, full of life, immortal for the moment, they run with all the joy of life and youth neverending.

The salty surf sprays them as they pass byat breakneck speed, neither starting nor ending, rolling in and out.

I see them as clear as crystal, and feel them in my heart, mournfully happy on an endless summer’s day.

They know nothing but play. The boy, lagging behind, fair skinned and strong, laughing in the salty breeze.

The girl still ahead, bells tinkling around her every movement. Hair black as a raven’s wing and eyes as green as nature itself.

They hold all the fire of life, the innocence of youth, and the mischief of experience.
The moment has neither beginning nor end, but plays out with the slow, stalwart pace of the ages and the frantic pace of all living things.

They embrace and time stops in this perfect moment of love, there is nothing else.

I look up at the night sky and the constellations form her face everywhere I look, the stars light the fire in her eyes, and that dirty, mischievous little grin plays on forever.

I smell orange blossoms, the essence of purity itself and know that all people know this pair.

The primogeninators of humanity.

They look forward and know the road will be hard, yet they run for it all the faster, across a beach of pure, white, sand.

They celebrate the morrow and mourn the past, regretting not an instant in between.
Always running, for the sheer freedom of the act, the pleasure of existence, and the joy of life and life to come, forevermore.

Even now, on a quiet summer’s night, I can still hear their laughter in the air, and smell orange blossoms on the fresh breeze.

1 comment:

Joilene said...

I love this. It's like re-visiting a dream that I couldn't remember the first time around.