A Moment Preserved In Amber

As if Old Father Time cast down his hoary gaze to shed a tear of amber upon the world, to freeze on canvas this instant of perfection, this loving shadowplay of aged man and young girl. She sits so small, a china and alabaster doll wrapped up in the tepid sunset chill of fires dying distantly; as far as the minds eye can discern the dance of twilight over dale and hill. This last waning evening of the month of May, the old man, galvanic with the rush of seasonal transition, pushes her upon her silhouetted swing, love forever frozen in time, locked in this position. For the tear of amber fell, coalesced around them orange, flaming yellow and forms of sculpted black; entombed together in the iris of a slowly setting sun, content to not look forward, more content to not look back.