Monday, December 19, 2016

VALLEY WIND EVERGREEN THORN SKY PATH CORN STALK SUN AND OTHER……………..



The wind came down to the valley. It touched the top first. Well, it was not a touch, but a resounding sound and visit. Akin to the way the ocean can crash on the shore. I saw that the trees began to shake and the snow laden branches shed the white, let it to go into the wind. I half-expected the earth to tremble, but it didn’t and wouldn’t. The things I remember whist standing there the most were the blue sky mixed with white clouds, plus the green of the tall evergreens mixed in with that blue, or I suppose in front of it. White and green and blue. There were other parts of nature besides, such as the little thorns that lived on the branches if they be called that, and just waited atop a bit of snow, as if to say that they had been frozen in time, which in a way they had. Also the old tree trunks that were covered in winter’s charms, - white, wind, some invisible but felt coldness.
 
The summit of the valley held a path and nearabouts the end of it was where I once saw a deer race past. In fact, if the truth be told, it wasn’t that it raced past, but that it was there, waiting, watching, and then raced away, - to my left, to its right. Once it was going through the brush it was like paint being thrown through the air, or a dream, a vision, and as quick as a thought. A deer can be as quick as a thought I would swear. Well, we circle around a bit eventually and come to a path, once again there is a path, - but this one has deeper snow because less souls have tread upon it. Nearabouts the end of that particular way, there is an opening, and once you go right, further away from the forest, the tracks usually stop and you have to make your own way. That is where we went and we did fine by taking our time, and also through enjoying the sun that shone down fairly, openly, honestly, and with its prowess, upon all and everything there.

After a while some inner clock said it was time to go. The wind, having picked up a bit here and there, had left again. I thought back to some time before when it was strong atop the valley wall. I had not seen the farmer in a long while, or the corn stalks that wait silently in the winter air, their aura something I had never experienced, their energy something I felt definitively, but could still not really place. The aura of corn stalks, of feed corn, is a peculiar one,- but it is handsome somehow, if an aura could be handsome, and seems like a smart wooden pier just newly built on a clam lake or quite a quiet part of an ocean inlet. I shall have to think more on that one, and re-visit those stalks that stand like that, hiding some mystery within such as spirits, stones, vortexes, such like that.

In the meantime we begin the walk out, part and parcel of a larger, of an infinite, of a sometimes difficult but always overall wonderful story.


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