by Spirited Earthling
Tonight I watch the sky and it is truly beautiful. As the fiery sun throws its incandescent glow of constant change, the clouds shape themselves into elephants and angels. Some are bold and beautiful, where others disperse like the tide swept sands on a distant shore. There are the light ones that wisp and fancy, and those that contain a determination that’s already marked them from the rest.
Above this, a glimpse of that other dimension. The clouds, like quick flashes of consciousness, underlie the deep silence of the universe beyond: its presence quietly holds the drama of the setting.
The sunset casts a strong spray of colour where golden tendrils catch all in their path, as a light playful wind creates mischief and patter. A layer of cloud undercuts the rest. Its long feeble fingers moving with a different current to touch those who have also drifted away.
There are some higher than one could imagine: fine elegant patches of white that sit far above, watching and waiting the unfolding play. These guardians remain still: silent, strong, proud and concrete. They are indeed the ones closest to the deep spirit beyond.
The movement is quickening as the sun sinks back into the earth. Pink now, with bold grey streaks across the sky. Pathways fringed in crispy gold: and those angelic fingers of God.
Just a speck, as the fingers of light finish their work and drop beyond the land; a patch of light disappears into the sea. Glimpses of what has been form an afterthought; as embers fizzle and the glow turns to night - red and gold turning to grey and stone. The tension mounts as the night prepares itself, and the great pilgrimage marches its echo. Faint snatches still clinging to the possibilities of prolonged existence, then fading…fading…into night.
The other shore seethes with a calm abiding, where the underworld is spinning as a new light beckons. The white waifs are gone to make way for the moon and her glory. This shore holds many secrets, where clouds across another place speak a different language: strange and distant…
A faint hue is the sun’s only remnant; he has made another life and moves with different pilgrims…
The evening star finds me pondering on the finishing, and reminds me that all is change; ever growing, ever transforming. Where something dies, something else is born. My eyes need training. What do I see, I ask myself, if the mystery of it all is just a reflection of an inner working - that which seems just out of reach but present all the same.
The wind is rich. It is time to go in……
