The beauty of a running river. A sort of tamed wildness that cannot be recreated–even in the modern world. A wistful image, taken by one of Whim’s passionate photographers. My thanks to her for this scenic viewpoint, and for all of the work that she has provided these past weeks.
Still it sits, like a statue in the eyes of the world.
Waiting for what? It know not.
All that is left is the birds in the trees
and the flowers.
The path is empty, as usual.
The steps are gone, replaced by wind.
Whispering . . . whispering . . .
Rustling the rainbows of the trees.
Stone beneath, wood above,
open to the sky yet shielded.
Shielded from the light that wears the stone
That coats the colors of the forest.
Waiting for the light to fade;
the sun to drop forever more.
To take with it the colors of the world
and start anew with dawn thereafter.
Like droplets from a cloudy sky
fly like fireworks in the night.
Holding close, expanding nil,
these flowers grow from leafy grass.
Around them coats a sunlit glare,
hazy as the morning mist,
across which darts the ants and insects
calling such a starburst home.
Though the day plays on, the Watcher waits. In his shack of shattered timbers, the Watcher peers from the darkness over the hills and fields. No one knows what the Watcher sees, but only that his door opens at night. From within, the Watcher gazes, coal-black eyes in the darkness. From his door he steps, pale and lifeless, and waits.
Though stained by the passage of time, nothing quite beats the classics.
This image in particular reminded me of a very popular video game franchise set in a post-nuclear wasteland, and the coloration that the photographer was able to capture was incredible. Everything from the gear-and-bolt logo the the piece as a whole captures the imagination and throws you into another world.
Like starlight from the ground grow high,
stolen from the dark night sky
shedding from their stately stems
a vision of eternity.
Bursting forth and full of life,
despite all hardships’ bitter strife,
gleaning from the sun high ‘bove,
a gentle bloom, serenity.
Clustered close, a flower’s breadth,
and carried high, from weightless depth.
Searching, straining, for the light,
a blossom’s sole proclivity.
Mother Nature loves to wait. Watching, year by year, and taking back what is hers. Vines reaching, trees enveloping, everything returns to the Earth.
Ever does the box sit staring,
holding what she wants the most.
Tempting souls with understanding—
fleeting knowledge, like a ghost.
Behind the keyhole, steeped in darkness,
lurking just beyond her sight,
the yellow box stays locked regardless;
ode to owner’s stubborn spite.
So there it stays, its contents hidden
from the world’s most watchful eyes.
Waiting for the un-forbidden
to wrest from it its precious prize.
From the ground the mushroom sprouts,
its brother by its side.
And since neither one could shout
They shared the meal of that which died.
With the setting sun doth bring
a nighttime lit by stars.
And from the fields does chorus sing
the frogs, the wind, the distant cars.
To start the day comes early dawn,
and every dawn must come.
Behind the dawn shines midday bright,
to banish dark with sun.
But sun must go, and with it flee
the brightness of the day
And leave behind the setting sun
To light our footsteps’ way.
I just thought that this close-up was really cool. Since I am not really a fan of mushrooms, I never pay them much attention. After taking the camera really close, though, the stalk, the ribs, the color–it’s as wonderful to look at as any flower or tree. Nature never ceases to amaze, and I am glad to live in a world where such beauty exists.
In Spring, the most delicate things are brought to life–from the fragile flower’s first petals, to the bloom of the great oak. We see these changes, and feel their effect. The sweet smell of new beginnings, the warmth of upcoming summer kept crisp by April rains. To Sister-Spring, we urge you onward, and look forward to your beautiful dance…
And so the wheel turns, bringing new life from that which has died. Though my bones may rest unseen in the earth, they are cradled by the gentle roots. I lie content, through the passage of time.
Before you stands the path laid bare, its way lightened by the setting sun, and framed by thinning, spindly pines. The smell of damp earth permeates every portion of the forest, with droplets from the recent rain falling every so often onto the leaves that litter the ground. Though unseen, you know you are close to home. You feel it. And so you walk on, each step making no noise as the trail winds to its conclusion.
Here you see me, a husk of my former self. A shell amid shells, tossed into land while my life was the sea. Here I rot, abandoned yet watched . . . a ghost.
Though we dwell in cold, summer shines ahead, bringing with it flowers and warmth. This wonderful picture captures the essence of summer’s greeting, showing the vast green of an open landscape and the blossoming flowers of new life.
One must be careful not the miss the beauty beneath our feet. Its own world, alien to our own, that calls to the imagination in ways we could never dream. With our gaze locked on the lives around us, sometimes it can be hard to look down . . . but not if one remembers to slow down and look.