Written on February 9, 2025
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Spilled from dew drenched petals, an overflow of laughing ferns warring with the still forms – graceful amazed by the atmosphere of light softly woven through the inklings, aglow stirring winds beneath shadows pouring from the twilight’s joy softly threaded into the horizon, a sky worn gray by the gentle hope arising beyond the meadow’s charms leaking, a trickle of melancholic born of grief and glory spattered with golden blossoms, dozens bowing and kneeling to worship praising their Creator, the Author of light nodding like they’ve some reason beyond the presence of silence still forms, guided by the heartbeat, the rhythm a song amid the savannahs quiet breath pouring out joy through the air bending and falling, calling to the morning a reflection of still beauty, on the wings of truth blowing across the steely skies remembering the day when this artist transposed the music of the heart to a story of genius
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