Beneath the Dust of Time

In the pediment of the blue hills rolling down from the horizon, the rising crimson sun spread surreal splendor on the landscape, etched with carvings of meandering streams, verdant meadows, transparent ponds, thriving thickets and emerald vale of flowers. My youth embedded in the naïvety of juvenile exuberance, fluttered on the wings of indigo birds scaling the cerulean sky, like my colorful kites flying at the fringe of the fleeting clouds, my flying fantasy took their nebulous shapes, I keenly marveled. I wondered what they meant, for they were so expressive in form, designed by the intricate play of the opposites, light and shade, like the pattern the filtered sunbeams created piercing the foliage on the floor of the forest where I ventured to chase the butterflies, or like at dulcet sunset the dancing design of lengthening shadows are sketched by the trees on the pond rippling at sailing swan’s wake, I followed swimming away from the seething heat of summer. The infantile motifs engraved on the ductile young mind lie buried under the dust time blew across the uprooted life. At the edge of the falling night I trace the faint footprint trail, searching beneath the dust for the pale picture of my youth. January 10, 2021 Contest : The Good Old Days Sponsor : Mystic Rose Rose