How sweet is solitude. Serene. Immaculate. Like wild snow on a wilder rock. The noiseless noise among leaves. The silence inbetween bird calls. The trickling streamlet that runs. Flooding the neighborhood ants’ and little insects’ plains.  They run amock. In fear, for life. A delicate-finicky hand-wash in the kitchen. A life-killing tsunami for them.

And then, the birds. Chirping all morning. Restless. Brimming with life. Then, lulling to a drone in the afternoon. Only to make amends for lost time in twilight.

The sky. The seer of all this. Pink. Red. Yellow. Brazen. Bland. Yellow. Russet. Pink. Like the ebb-flow, ebb-flow of passion in a relationship. The copper sky whistling at everything. The copper blushing into twilight with many a clamor.


~ by KS on January 11, 2009.

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