493: Blink if you can hear me
The years are collecting, magic diminished and flickering.
… Do something.
The years are collecting, magic diminished and flickering.
… Do something.
To the mind grateful and content, what is ordinary far exceeds the sensational in radiance and sincerity. The smallest things can catalyse the pivot towards a circuitry of events, a clashing of aims and atoms exciting monumental and irreparable change, flung out across the stars by a mere blink, a breath, and just being.
Can such things be, and apprehend like a Winter Sun?
From its highest seat entirety is touched. Woe into dew thaws, the intellect has no answer at last. An eye cannot bear to blink. No face is unfelt of its warmth, no heart left uncheered beneath, nor does any farewell quite endear, as when it still glistening recedes behind tomorrow. The coming Spring is quite forgot.