On Nature and Solitude
In the beginning it was all but a campfire tale; A comforting voice for a child’s soul.
I did not know the name of the fields, the trees, the flowers, but already full of amaze I observed them. Hummingbirds hovered over our simulated flowers. The wheat fields piled themselves as marching soldiers heading on to the river. My young eyes squinted over the glow of their golden armors.
Amongst the harvest, I smile over to a capricious blackbird singing over a fallen fig. The early sun made the earth silver and gold. Everywhere exploded; the fields boiled with life.
Dandelions fall everywhere. What do I do with all these Dandelions? They fall over my feet, over my head. My body is furred with un-wintry snow. They are full of force, profound, more elevated. They float delicately towards me divined by the wind. As I look up, my eyes; they have become dandelions as well.
I see horses walk gently on to a rosy water ponds. Violet; darker would it turn as they approached the longed liquid. Their gigantic mouths engulfed noisy mouthfuls of bloody waters.
My face was also illuminated elsewhere. I saw men walking home, others riding burros. The sunset was a purple hue hurt by his own crystals making him bleed and bleed again. The fields, the flowers, they gleamed incandescent and soaked penetrating the luminescent hours.
My high-spirited soul kept watch for the voices of the Earth; Echoes talked endlessly about heroic battles. I could see the scars carved on the mountains and barks of trees. The voices seemed saddened by their losses however proud like that of an invincible hero.
Standing against the wind and rain; the earth shows her granite soil, her razor edges, fighting obstinate against herself.
The road is my own. The moment is familiar yet monumental. It seemed as if at the end of every corner I would accidentally ran into colossal...