Today, two of the children were visiting, bringing their talk and laughter. It was a day of chatting of everything and nothing, of singing and laughing and playing with dogs and cats, of walking up through the fields on tracks left by the harvesters following scents and listening to the quiet.

Some things I never tire of, the birds, the sky, walking with the ones I care about, and listening to the world turning slowly on its axis beneath the sun and the stars.

There’s a song thrush singing in the poplars
as the sun goes down,
and the willows are full of warblers
with a few last quiet words.
The sky’s adrift with cloud boats,
grey-hulled with sails of white,
and the blackbirds croon a lullaby
to resign us to the night.

Written for:  Sunday Muse #217

On this mountain,
magical moments
take place.  No one
else knows about
this space.  Just me.
One night I was able
to swim across  
the night sky. Didn't
tell anyone.  Tonight
the moon is full
of smiles.  I am
catching moonbeams
on my magical mountain.

http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/

Knowledge can be communicated, but not wisdom.

~ Hermann Hesse ~

____________

Everything happens to everybody sooner or later

if there is time enough.

~ George Bernard Shaw ~

_______________

In the alcove she sips dark coffee, her eyes sting from cigarette smoke permeating the cafe. Still she is compelled to search the tree lined boulevard where branches become hawks, their whistling wings a silky blue. Few faces can be seen theough the mist but the sweet language of lovers fill the air.
Submerged in those warm sighs soundless tears overflow in silvery streaks.
He gently tastes the salt on her lips, still burning from the kiss of yesterday’s lover. Sweet blossoms leave a crush of salt on his tongue. The splendor of her thighs, the shape of her milky white breasts is a dim memory now.
Without a goodbye a rose is placed into her open palm to fade over time like the color of love.