A wakeful morning it has become, far in the golden glow, refreshing to shelter skin of a long dark penitentiary. The shallow breeze is a ghost, cold to the touch as it passes by, wrapping in a death blanket, yet it melts away the ice of stiffness, and the meaning of being free, is far clearer than ever before.
Harvest clouds filled the sky; no sign of sea hues, yellow whips block it within oneâ€™s own fog. By far, is not seen as a meaning of hurt, only in welcome of something new. Season pass on bys, lost of dry sand grains the scent, giving it that bitter kick, of a summer ending, and greeting of autumn.
On one of how offsetting it is, with the low hills, mirroring still waves of the untamable ocean bellows.
Nerving for most of it, so far it still gives that sense of neglect, making one come near to tears, so close to it all, still so far away to grab. Thin plants surviving the seasonâ€™s changes, still having signs of life, but also death.
Humans could call that envy, for how they wish for immortally, and the closet one to grasp, that hidden gem, is the plants. So easy to see, but sadly unsighted for thatâ€™s too easy to grasp, leaving for the endless search to go on, being wasted of chances, and basic understanding.
Blame is unknowingly set upon the golden orb of light, of the humansâ€™ days, giving only small amount of waking time, to figure out the unsaid questions of life, and only getting by, those small victories. Young minds could mistake the yellow orb as a star, to clear it, a wishing star that is only seen when the tiny wishing stars sleep.
Plentiful dreams those have become, though finding those who would dare snap the dreams apart, as the brittle twin of wheat trees out in the distance, in the negative space of black space, shaded away from the given light, one would.
Just the one that finds blankness as a sin, more than a spiteful gift, which is a reminder, that not everything is one to hold to, on give to one, the other takes back. The harvest land is a give and take, on the needs and wants, in the short time of how time goes, is little on the caring for how long it last.
In the golden ocean as this, is a new change, to see things different, to break away from the small cell, as the cooling hugs of the coming winds of lessons, whip by, to tame or earn, is just the start of it.
Lost in one wish, on the sake of immortally, is far the given needed, nor the taken chance to waste on.
Somehow, seizing everything, smiling upon it now, goes farther, even it last only seconds. And in those seconds, comes inner immortally, a greater gift, that has no reason, to be explained upon further.
In Loving Memory to a dearÂ family memberÂ of David Peters, may this shine some spark that they are never forgotten.
_MG_8878 Edit by David Peters
Location when made Jellico, Tennessee, USA
Taken in the year; 2014
Want to see more of his work, go here: https://www.flickr.com/photos/124082064@N07/sets
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