Arrows

Arrows from bright, unbroken skies are falling down into the eyes of a man who is searching, yearning to find fantastical vistas inside of his mind. The warming rays illuminate for him branching paths from which to choose again– one that's been taken, one yet to be tread, but both wild new worlds inside of his head. This time his inspiration can be found in gentle giants rooted deep within the ground; how they sway and creak and seem to speak to all those venturing outside to seek a piece of peace amidst their stoic presence or words of wisdom in their silent essence. For some small creatures, they can be a stage on which to sing or dance or at times engage with the birds and the bees in a compilation, played in a theater with living foundations. More wonders walk under that green ceiling seeking its cover to avoid revealing themselves to any from the world outside, wary of the dangers when worlds collide. These are the stewards of this grand old hall where, when no one’s watching, silent things fall to the ground, decay, and become the soil that all things need and in which men toil. Yet these men who venture out to work and play within this world–this great green bouquet– struggle to stop for, much less ever smell, the wonders, like roses, wherever they dwell; wonders like giants growing so tall and so green that they create, in morning sun, a scene of arrows from bright, unbroken skies falling down into my eyes. -- by ThoughtsFromB4