Aint It Funny How It Is

I like the accidental, incidental way- the mist kisses and lifts from the timberline, like angelic lung that breathes it all in, drifts to the next flowering, a honey bee in a land of fairy as our heart's flutter and are arrow stung, eros strung. The way the sun facets its beam in shutter glistened wink, balance hung in the cascadency of echo-system, beats, chirps, wakings strummed. How loving that the lens is left open to show we are live radiantly in a song and not alone, not a curse of one. I like how food just happens to be, a bounty of giving, a consistent conglomeration congealed upon itself and presented as social happenstance of living happened stance, aroma of heart lance of delicious varietal trance of sustenance. In colors decadent, juices, magnificent enough to be a cuisine, cuisinart machinery. I like the sunrise, how it presents itself in a theatrical opening credit, the greeting anew, all be it- the salutationed dew, sparkling, chirping song-ward, music impending- foreshadowed-Mother's teet sending milk in perfect flow, "in a brilliance of only One who is in the know". A verse spoken long-words tokened in a windswept mansions of Holy dimensions-vowed. In patterned tale cameowed mosaic chord of harmonic scale to tell, the sunset to bow. the grandeur of a days production, setting silhouette cast and an amen and again by the moon to watchover as sentinel who keeps watch for, in the promise of dawn, in wait, stagelight drawing ready to perform from- behind the curtain again. Aint It Funny How It Is.