It Is the Sunset I Await
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Sunset, occurring daily (and as such, no miracle by the nature of the word),
calls me again to it's evening forum, where I, though vaguely moved to testify - again, only watch.
I watch...And as ever, am left rippling with the quiet swell of majestic privilege felt from inception (I am certain) by each and every oak tree born of ancestral crops in earths red canyons - Intrinsically original, yet universally indistinguishable from it's likewise peerless brothers.
A part of the whole.
I myself am human and in so being, have been much exposed to the impossible pink of a newborn day and to the breeze of sky blue it becomes with age. But this ongoing cycle of singularities leaves me unimpressed...
It is the sunset I await.
The sunset, who, unlike it's younger selves, is fast running out of time. Yet, who each night still requests my audience and waits patiently while I (no miracle myself, by the nature of the word!) valiantly attempt perfect attendance.
Tonight, though I am only here as a bystander, the sunset, now in it's twilight moments, asks a few words of me.
And tonight, I speak...
For I have long awaited the day when, at it's end, I could tell the beautiful sunset all that it has meant to me. And thank it for the elegant gift it has been my honor to accept each and every evening of my life. This being so, now I stand and my face awash in it's molten light,
I whisper to it from my reverent pew...
And the story I tell is one not only of it's own magnificence
But also of mine...
Copyright © Lycia Harding | Year Posted 2015
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