Summer sent her kissing wind to coast the blacktop streets. She sent pulsing volleys of meadow fragranced air. She sent it infused with homeopathic birdsong, a sweet sound that dared linger long after the song was done. This I heard with my heart, I felt in my soul, and it radiated within until a lyric began to grow. I hummed. I danced a step or two. My lament had blown clean away as loose confetti and a new story was inking itself in. Perhaps it was an ordinary breeze, with neither magic nor music, yet it was the start of everything; it was day one.
Summer sent her kissing wind to coast the blacktop streets. She sent pulsing volleys of meadow fragranced air. She sent it infused with homeopathic birdsong, a sweet sound that dared linger long after the song was done. This I heard with my heart, I felt in my soul, and it radiated within until a lyric began to grow. I hummed. I danced a step or two. My lament had blown clean away as loose confetti and a new story was inking itself in. Perhaps it was an ordinary breeze, with neither magic nor music, yet it was the start of everything; it was day one.
Summer sent her kissing wind to coast the blacktop streets. She sent pulsing volleys of meadow fragranced air. She sent it infused with homeopathic birdsong, a sweet sound that dared linger long after the song was done. This I heard with my heart, I felt in my soul, and it radiated within until a lyric began to grow. I hummed. I danced a step or two. My lament had blown clean away as loose confetti and a new story was inking itself in. Perhaps it was an ordinary breeze, with neither magic nor music, yet it was the start of everything; it was day one.
The wind was winter’s scarf, a plain knit of wooly ice. To bare boughs, to rooftop slates, to roadways and thoroughfares same: it wrapped itself in cruel delight, not once, not twice, yet thrice. It gusted and hollered. It twisted in warped glee, stealing heat, ignoring light. Yes, the wind that day was an unholy thing, unleashed with neither manner nor wit. Rude. It was rude. And, one doesn’t forget such a happening.
The wind was winter’s scarf, a plain knit of wooly ice. To bare boughs, to rooftop slates, to roadways and thoroughfares same: it wrapped itself in cruel delight, not once, not twice, yet thrice. It gusted and hollered. It twisted in warped glee, stealing heat, ignoring light. Yes, the wind that day was an unholy thing, unleashed with neither manner nor wit. Rude. It was rude. And, one doesn’t forget such a happening.
The wind was winter’s scarf, a plain knit of wooly ice. To bare boughs, to rooftop slates, to roadways and thoroughfares same: it wrapped itself in cruel delight, not once, not twice, yet thrice. It gusted and hollered. It twisted in warped glee, stealing heat, ignoring light. Yes, the wind that day was an unholy thing, unleashed with neither manner nor wit. Rude. It was rude. And, one doesn’t forget such a happening.
Rain blossomed from the ether as desert flowers to quenched sand, appearing independent of both clouds and gravity. From whence it had come, I failed to fathom. It lingered, tarried long as misty-fog, as if the concept of making haste was quite alien to its mode of thought. For both sights and aromas it was a blank canvas I suppose, one that invited the imagination to bring its easel and stand, to awaken creativity from its pensive slumbers.
Rain blossomed from the ether as desert flowers to quenched sand, appearing independent of both clouds and gravity. From whence it had come, I failed to fathom. It lingered, tarried long as misty-fog, as if the concept of making haste was quite alien to its mode of thought. For both sights and aromas it was a blank canvas I suppose, one that invited the imagination to bring its easel and stand, to awaken creativity from its pensive slumbers.
High-stacked homes shone as stars aligned. They were morse code music. They were a titan’s piano keys. They were an ever changing constant, a reassurance, an urban tranquility. Head-lamps flowed around, rosy tail-lights too. Traffic lights cycled green, amber, red, and back to green again. Though the dayshine bestowed the mountain view, the night bequeathed this sweet sight. To the city lover it is the three-six-five festive lights. In all four bonny seasons, as leaves grew, tumbled and grew once more, there they stood, a forest of gay trees.
High-stacked homes shone as stars aligned. They were morse code music. They were a titan’s piano keys. They were an ever changing constant, a reassurance, an urban tranquility. Head-lamps flowed around, rosy tail-lights too. Traffic lights cycled green, amber, red, and back to green again. Though the dayshine bestowed the mountain view, the night bequeathed this sweet sight. To the city lover it is the three-six-five festive lights. In all four bonny seasons, as leaves grew, tumbled and grew once more, there they stood, a forest of gay trees.
High-stacked homes shone as stars aligned. They were morse code music. They were a titan’s piano keys. They were an ever changing constant, a reassurance, an urban tranquility. Head-lamps flowed around, rosy tail-lights too. Traffic lights cycled green, amber, red, and back to green again. Though the dayshine bestowed the mountain view, the night bequeathed this sweet sight. To the city lover it is the three-six-five festive lights. In all four bonny seasons, as leaves grew, tumbled and grew once more, there they stood, a forest of gay trees.
High-stacked homes shone as stars aligned. They were morse code music. They were a titan’s piano keys. They were an ever changing constant, a reassurance, an urban tranquility. Head-lamps flowed around, rosy tail-lights too. Traffic lights cycled green, amber, red, and back to green again. Though the dayshine bestowed the mountain view, the night bequeathed this sweet sight. To the city lover it is the three-six-five festive lights. In all four bonny seasons, as leaves grew, tumbled and grew once more, there they stood, a forest of gay trees.
Stars, as open doorways, illuminated a camelot sky; for the romance of antiquity was abroad in the wide avenues. Of fog, there was none; of wind, the same. Yet, still and calm, in a night of serenest tranquility, I saw them eddy as if in Van Gogh’s masterpiece. My eyes dreamed their way up to the heavenly light, to an angel’s abode. With my soles planted firmly on the ground, and my head so much higher than any cloud, I felt titan-tall, how could I not?
Stars, as open doorways, illuminated a camelot sky; for the romance of antiquity was abroad in the wide avenues. Of fog, there was none; of wind, the same. Yet, still and calm, in a night of serenest tranquility, I saw them eddy as if in Van Gogh’s masterpiece. My eyes dreamed their way up to the heavenly light, to an angel’s abode. With my soles planted firmly on the ground, and my head so much higher than any cloud, I felt titan-tall, how could I not?
Stars, as open doorways, illuminated a camelot sky; for the romance of antiquity was abroad in the wide avenues. Of fog, there was none; of wind, the same. Yet, still and calm, in a night of serenest tranquility, I saw them eddy as if in Van Gogh’s masterpiece. My eyes dreamed their way up to the heavenly light, to an angel’s abode. With my soles planted firmly on the ground, and my head so much higher than any cloud, I felt titan-tall, how could I not?
Stars, as open doorways, illuminated a camelot sky; for the romance of antiquity was abroad in the wide avenues. Of fog, there was none; of wind, the same. Yet, still and calm, in a night of serenest tranquility, I saw them eddy as if in Van Gogh’s masterpiece. My eyes dreamed their way up to the heavenly light, to an angel’s abode. With my soles planted firmly on the ground, and my head so much higher than any cloud, I felt titan-tall, how could I not?
Stars, as open doorways, illuminated a camelot sky; for the romance of antiquity was abroad in the wide avenues. Of fog, there was none; of wind, the same. Yet, still and calm, in a night of serenest tranquility, I saw them eddy as if in Van Gogh’s masterpiece. My eyes dreamed their way up to the heavenly light, to an angel’s abode. With my soles planted firmly on the ground, and my head so much higher than any cloud, I felt titan-tall, how could I not?
As a freckle-star tumbled from the heavens, the little house nestled upon the onyx hill. It glowed amid the black of that abandoned mine. Broken slates were its daffodils. Rusted engines whistled in wintry winds. Whipped dust was its only confidant. I saw it from the city, aglow and yet alone. Legends are born in such places, far from the madding crowds. So one day, backpack snug to my shoulders, I made the climb with fullest-heart. Then there it was, a humble concrete dwelling, white painted, cherry window sills and blackest asphalt door. Sunsetting, a hearth fire flickering life into window panes, I raised my hand in request of entrance.
As a freckle-star tumbled from the heavens, the little house nestled upon the onyx hill. It glowed amid the black of that abandoned mine. Broken slates were its daffodils. Rusted engines whistled in wintry winds. Whipped dust was its only confidant. I saw it from the city, aglow and yet alone. Legends are born in such places, far from the madding crowds. So one day, backpack snug to my shoulders, I made the climb with fullest-heart. Then there it was, a humble concrete dwelling, white painted, cherry window sills and blackest asphalt door. Sunsetting, a hearth fire flickering life into window panes, I raised my hand in request of entrance.
As a freckle-star tumbled from the heavens, the little house nestled upon the onyx hill. It glowed amid the black of that abandoned mine. Broken slates were its daffodils. Rusted engines whistled in wintry winds. Whipped dust was its only confidant. I saw it from the city, aglow and yet alone. Legends are born in such places, far from the madding crowds. So one day, backpack snug to my shoulders, I made the climb with fullest-heart. Then there it was, a humble concrete dwelling, white painted, cherry window sills and blackest asphalt door. Sunsetting, a hearth fire flickering life into window panes, I raised my hand in request of entrance.
Firelight was holding parlance with the living room. A flicker here, a flicker there, warmth and light giggle-chattered on. Crackle and spark. Crackle and spark. The carriage clock ticked merrily on. Whispers of smoke wood-fragranced each breath. To this hearth-side scene, this place of soulful rest, autumnal boughs were its audience; for as the November sun surrendered to its scheduled slumber, ‘twas a square of warm golden light as inviting as any other.
Firelight was holding parlance with the living room. A flicker here, a flicker there, warmth and light giggle-chattered on. Crackle and spark. Crackle and spark. The carriage clock ticked merrily on. Whispers of smoke wood-fragranced each breath. To this hearth-side scene, this place of soulful rest, autumnal boughs were its audience; for as the November sun surrendered to its scheduled slumber, ‘twas a square of warm golden light as inviting as any other.
Firelight was holding parlance with the living room. A flicker here, a flicker there, warmth and light giggle-chattered on. Crackle and spark. Crackle and spark. The carriage clock ticked merrily on. Whispers of smoke wood-fragranced each breath. To this hearth-side scene, this place of soulful rest, autumnal boughs were its audience; for as the November sun surrendered to its scheduled slumber, ‘twas a square of warm golden light as inviting as any other.
Firelight was holding parlance with the living room. A flicker here, a flicker there, warmth and light giggle-chattered on. Crackle and spark. Crackle and spark. The carriage clock ticked merrily on. Whispers of smoke wood-fragranced each breath. To this hearth-side scene, this place of soulful rest, autumnal boughs were its audience; for as the November sun surrendered to its scheduled slumber, ‘twas a square of warm golden light as inviting as any other.
Firelight was holding parlance with the living room. A flicker here, a flicker there, warmth and light giggle-chattered on. Crackle and spark. Crackle and spark. The carriage clock ticked merrily on. Whispers of smoke wood-fragranced each breath. To this hearth-side scene, this place of soulful rest, autumnal boughs were its audience; for as the November sun surrendered to its scheduled slumber, ‘twas a square of warm golden light as inviting as any other.
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