Saturday, February 11, 2017
9:17 AM | Posted by
Unknown
I wrote this back in 1998 or thereabouts. I sent it to my mother, who just found it in an old journal, and sent it back to me. I love the visuals. If you are looking forward to a Spring evening on the step, this might help you stay motivated during the Winter cold.
I'm sitting on the front step. It's evening and the twilight is easy on my eyes. I can see with clarity, and without glare. The cool breeze from the canyons stirs my hair and refreshes my skin. I can take a deep breath and be cool from the inside out.
The gathering clouds over the mountains are gray and darkening, both from the waning light and from the moisture they bear. The familiar streaking can be seen in several places as the water bursts its lofty bands and races to the earth below. These streaks are self-creating and self-erasing, giving life to the term water colors.
The darkening light deepens the greens of spring into a depth of color that would cause Ireland to blanch with envy. The air itself seems to be imbued with richness from the growing strength of the greenery around me. Then I notice the faint and delicate sound of a hundred thousand tiny hands quietly clapping with the joy of spring. Imprisoned during the long, cold winter, the leaves of the aspen are free to applaud life and beauty for another season. The cottonwoods, not to be outdone by their jubilant neighbors, sing the song of ancient date. There are those who say it is only the wind through the trees, but in reality the trees are just waking for the night and are singing their songs to each other. This is when they come alive. With their feet firmly in the cool ground, their arms and heads are free to sway and dance the pleasures they feel at the new burst of life. Watch closely as they nod to each other in laughing cordiality. This is the slumber potion God made for those who are wise enough to drink it in at the end of a long, stressful day.
A rustling here, a breath of coolness there, the swaying, sweeping wonder of the twilight. What a wonder each day brings. I think I'll do this again tomorrow.
I'm sitting on the front step. It's evening and the twilight is easy on my eyes. I can see with clarity, and without glare. The cool breeze from the canyons stirs my hair and refreshes my skin. I can take a deep breath and be cool from the inside out.
The gathering clouds over the mountains are gray and darkening, both from the waning light and from the moisture they bear. The familiar streaking can be seen in several places as the water bursts its lofty bands and races to the earth below. These streaks are self-creating and self-erasing, giving life to the term water colors.
The darkening light deepens the greens of spring into a depth of color that would cause Ireland to blanch with envy. The air itself seems to be imbued with richness from the growing strength of the greenery around me. Then I notice the faint and delicate sound of a hundred thousand tiny hands quietly clapping with the joy of spring. Imprisoned during the long, cold winter, the leaves of the aspen are free to applaud life and beauty for another season. The cottonwoods, not to be outdone by their jubilant neighbors, sing the song of ancient date. There are those who say it is only the wind through the trees, but in reality the trees are just waking for the night and are singing their songs to each other. This is when they come alive. With their feet firmly in the cool ground, their arms and heads are free to sway and dance the pleasures they feel at the new burst of life. Watch closely as they nod to each other in laughing cordiality. This is the slumber potion God made for those who are wise enough to drink it in at the end of a long, stressful day.
A rustling here, a breath of coolness there, the swaying, sweeping wonder of the twilight. What a wonder each day brings. I think I'll do this again tomorrow.
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