Immolated purple and crushed cherry. Golden harmony pulling tears that would not otherwise be offered for peace. In expression we find the words and comfort of compassion given to the impoverished, poor and often least remembered. What glory in establishing hope? The cold wet earth stands ready for ice or seed. The sun standing watch over the valley of indifference. What grows in hearts found sullen, hugging despair?

These are the bright mornings of our recall. Turning back not to black and ruin but to morns of reason, expectation and creation. We have been freed of the burdens of our own involvement or duty. The headlines proclaim that joy made happiness irrelevant. For mountains do not hate the sky, tickling its fancy. Nights do a dance with light of day. Knowing that for a time to observe humility we all must step away from the passions.

Driven to be more than secured by war, sweat and elbows. We follow the wings of birds who know the season. Flight time in transit, overlooking the masses. Window to this and other worlds I enter the portal and find myself at the foot of glassy seas. Fashioned fancy and romance to rival fiefdoms. We sorted and pressed to deliver a product consistent with calamity but were reminded all along of master’s intent. Rekindling fires long frozen in pits untended we set the flames of yesteryear to spark future fealty.

What dance against the teal and sand driven sky? Hand in hand we paraded in a quest for honor with mouths half filled in sand as our words reflect the dust we’d begun. We yearned for anything green or slow running milky creeks of mountainous winter. Into our own dreams we retreated, knowing white and auburn or emerald. Regretting our venture into the dual dimensions of the temporary we sought the twisted strings of color revolutions. When the keys are found, the door opened, who pines for the previous? Not I said the willing.