Time reveals as the Mother turns her cloak of shimmering goldenInto home spun ribbons of gray
As if hands draw up to tired eyes, wishing to explore new horizons
Impatiently waiting for the cascading colors to fall, spilling over
Seeping and not restrained in a withered, cracked ceramic shell
Cupped and contained, carried and cradled
Lifted and reaching upwards
Bursting and flowing
Endless, eternal
Light that has merged
Into song.
November has begun its campaign down these rainy streets as it always has, drawing notes on a somber trombone, and even as we think of those angels that have faded into memory I am reminded that along the rushing river of Life, the soft petals that fall from towering redwoods and weeping willows, absent from our sight, continue traveling on the sweetness of the winds. We are left to stumble into the harshness of the winter which pushes at the fabric of our weary souls, driving us within the sanctity of our homes.
Cocooned, and peering out into the showers of snow that now Mother Nature proudly dons as a pristine gown of white sometimes brings us to sadness, or finding us questioning our faith. Yet the Creator speaks to us in song, in the rare beauty of crystals that form and the Light that is always pulsating and present each new dawn. Like every trial or struggle in our lives, there is the promise of the radiance of simple serenity walking through a prairie, trickle of a river reborn in the warmth of Creation that ebbs and flows.
God's Peace.
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