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Dreaming in Motion



 



I need to slip away in the light of



my creation, a ceremonious breeze



high in the heavens of contentment



softly whispering by, gathering flowers



wild, from a field of daisies, buttercups



goldenrod, Indian paintbrushes.



 



Wondrously! I laid upon the sweet grasses



aroma hypnotizing my attention, astonished



from the beauty that surrounds me, enchanted



with whippoorwills echoing through the



treetops of mountain pine, while clouds



darkened slowly, for the dance to begin, with



dots swiftly appearing, sparkling across the



velvet heavens.



 



The silver disk of light brightens the lake



dressed in a sheet of clear glass with tree



frogs singing their immortal mating songs



serene and blissfully kissing the silence



good-night, sweet dreams, with God watching



mother, moisturizing the coolness of delight



and promise of another day.



 



Dreaming in motion never grows old



it only calms the savage beast that lives



when clouds darken.



 



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