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It is very late and now I must go for the stars are twinkling, calling to me with a furtive wink, a secret message shared between us. It's time to sleep to join them in the sky, riding their shimmering tails Playing hide-and-seek behind the clouds while our wise moon looks on and smiles, a smile so mysterious and ancestral, protective. I become a child again, a particle in space, timeless as my soul returns to the playground in the sky, in the universe. Joyful, content and weightless of worry... until the haughty sun shows its presence and disrupts the games. With its first showing of rays the stars hide behind the moon who, quietly, quietly leaves with a wistful sigh. And I go back to the arms of mother earth, until the night returns tomorrow to claim my presence once again. |
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TIME FLIES and nighttime cautiously dresses itself in darkness. I've let time go by, many springs became winter and all the paper castles of my dreams were swept away. I yearn for long forgotten phrases, I hunger for sensations, the sharing of emotions, days of brilliant rainbows, soft melodic music capturing the soul, sunny afternoons and soft breezes undressing the daily burdens. I want to share the unspoken magic of gazing at shooting stars, the wonder of nature when seasons alter its colors, the clashing music of ocean waves. I long to share the soft cries of a guitar under a summer sky, chasing seagulls on a deserted beach, ice-cream cones in the middle of winter and crinkling autumn leaves beneath my boots. But without someone special to appreciate this, it all becomes so insignificant, distorted. For what is an artist without fantasy, what is a blue sky without the sun? |
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WINTER WONDERLAND with the smell of wood-burning fires, wisps of smoke floating towards the sky, coming from beyond the hill. Cookies baking, pine cones, hot chocolate. A crispy early morning, the fragrance of clean, fresh air after a snowfall. So many different, wonderful memories like a carousel pass through the mind. The wintry weather - the fragile white snow sparkling under the sun, misty white puffs forming when one exhales, ear tips tingling from the frosty breeze. Walking on snow, what a feeling - the crunching sound it makes. Almost violating a perfection treading on virgin snow. But oh, the sheer joy of racing downhill on a wooden sled. A snow blizzard in the night. Listening to the wind howling outside, face plastered against the windowpane, swirling snow being blown around, like so many dancers whirling pure white sheets, round and round. Numerous fantasies made up, imagining stories and tales of long ago, all evoked by those myriad of fragile, uniquely designed flakes falling to the ground. So evanescent as one, so strong and firm when bunched together. Standing outside and welcoming all the flakes, drifting, twirling and waltzing in the pale moonlit night. The contrast of the white flakes weightlessly floating from an inky sky, as if God is sending confetti for some unmerited occurrence we accomplished. The hush of the night, silently paying homage to the marvel of the snowfall. |