The Secret of The Rainbow

Where is the secret of the rainbow? At the edge of one's own life? Whence does it come, with those lovely pastel colours? Is it a heavenly art or a mere human illusion? Some form of an ancient creative masterpiece? Perhaps expressionism was reassessed? The spiritual in natural art is oft-forgotten in musty mists, where the soul engages in confrontations with the deadly reaper. The appalling midst of winter intensifies in the freeze, and the psychology of death deepens, for we are too much attached to worldly cares. Characteristic emotions in cowardly conflicts. One can say so very few words about the astute business of a measured life, like autumn's falling bronzed leaves, its face value is not easily perceived; for dead leaves turn into compost, no peaceful transition true, but a must that leads and helps life's renewal in spring. Forget the troubled dream of dreary life, let the seasons daub their watercolours bold and free, the rainbow assigns a variety of mellow hues, chooses always the brightest. For the secret of the rainbow a symbol of new hope lies in its Creator.