The sky was changing color, as it does in the evening;
Moving from the sincere blue of midafternoon,
To a more undecided color...
Somewhere between orange, and indigo.
We never wanted to come in then,
Even though only two hours before,
The adults had to run us out of the house,
So THEY could have some Peace...
Yet now when they called to us
So earnestly in the dark,
We pretended not to hear.
That time of day
Held a delightful sway over us...
We ran like young colts through the tall grassy fields,
Pretending that we could fly
great feathery ferns were our wings,
And spanish moss we wore as our mane.
The cicadas made the largest sound imaginable then,
And we would laugh, and run, and just enjoy
"BEING"
We were happy, and we were fully
"PRESENT"
in that moment of time.
The past was gone,
we were unconcerned with the future...
Only that very special moment held any
"TRUTH"
We were full of the Wisdom of Being;
The wisdom of children.
