I dream of rivers - cold and wild
cutting through the capacious countryside.
They are light and dark, full of shadows
yet translucent.
And of the sun
pouring forth its opulent warmth, heat,
from the fire of its heart, onto the world,
bathing it in its light.
She runs her fingers through the delicate
branches and leaves of each tree.
Her nymphs dance and sparkle
leaping from silvery edge to silvery edge
of the waves.
It is beautiful, it is good, once was said.
We walk, our bodies held by the earth's
bright abundant existence. Gentle.
Our rhythm falls in line with a better, older time.
It is to be alive, it is joy. Shouting
our praise higher than the stars
we hold onto one another,
tightly, and smile.
But sometimes, in want, in need,
we break apart -
and wander alone to the dark.
We shall come back
to this place.
To peace.
