Those Sunny Days.

I look down from that place in the sky and see the ones who are still there, trying to make it through another day. It is a realization of the one most precious treasures that can be possessed: a selfishly beating heart. It works effortlessly in a motion that makes no sense. A generously given gift -- unwrapped then tossed aside. It is nothing to be explained on paper or in thought, but rather a deep lingering feeling. A voice from the silence is but an echo in the cave of doves and wolves. The night sky understands the soft words spoken to the pale clouds, and the Sun turns away in shame as the dry light caresses the yellowing weeds along the empty rows of the Vineyard. The shallow water of the canal flows slower these days, with leaked chemicals poisoning whatever goodness that once flowed through its path. But what does it lead to other than a narrow ending?

The elder Tree brings comfort to those who observe it on those rare days after the rain has stopped and the sky opens to the blinding light. The ground has a sharp silver quality, and the puddles provide a soothing scent reminiscent of how this world used to be. The crispness of the chilled air is enough to make one sit still in silence, and the White Mountains in the painted distance are exposed for a moment or two. A sight of beauty, you say? Indeed, for those who are blessed with this vision will live to a happy end. Now lay yourself down on the moist blades of grass and shed away all love and fear held within. Let the freedom go. Release it from that rusty cage. Eyes closed, the mind drifts and dreams of nothing. Escape those thoughts carried from day to day, week to week, month to month, year to year. They are no longer needed. What a foolish question it would be to ask why. Trust nothing but those mysterious shadows that follow you in moments of weakness. And listen for the cry of the hawk that sits atop the tallest pine in the land. It will surely lead you through this inescapable journey.