￼ This place of legends Where breaths hang in the valley Make mists of these dreams Author’s Note: I took this picture near Skelwith in the English Lake District. Magical!
￼ The angled sunlight made mirrors of the water, the sky below as above. It was like sailing between worlds in neither one realm nor the other, a breath held. My small boat made passage as though on that final trip we all must take. If so, what a wonderful departure. Author's Note: as almost […]
￼ Brooding presence stands Guardian beneath blue skies Pastureland's watchman
￼ As we meandered in Sunday languor a Spring sun warming our backs, the view the same both up and down, we touched the sky. Only the pathway's lush, green verges gave consistency to our world, the rocks true weight. We flew for those minutes with feet firmly planted. Never worrying.
￼ Hills undulated across the landscape like a verdant ocean topped by white clouds of froth and birds for fish. If Poseidon had taken Earth and made it his, this might’ve been his version of home. When the sun set, me left drowning in a dark nowhere, I knew it was.
Listening to the chatter of snowflakes.
She led me down the stairs, out of the kitchen door, and into the garden. “You see, it’s rained,” she announced. “At last, it’s rained.” “That doesn’t prove a thing.” “Then, what does it prove, mister smarty-pants?” “That the woods are weeping. That’s all.”