Lightening Streaks across the horizon peeling back the colors of darkness.
Reflections reveal the surface of the lake is real, and it holds colors hostage in its dark depths while secretly making love to shadows.
It’s the thunder that awakens or distracts our senses to our fears, light or sound; the storm is just a word.
The crack of air tears a second of reality open for all to hear, but no one listens, they remember or fear shadows in the wind.
We live in a world of surfaces. Colors and textures dominating our landscape with stolid waves of dirt undulating still, as our feet move through the valleys and peaks carrying thoughts like embers in a pouch.
Lightening reveals a glimpse of chalk painted figures dancing with smoke around orange shards of warmth. The storm is their power.
To them there are no forces of nature, only the power of nature to be harnessed and rode through the shadows of life. No width, depth, or breadth to be concerned with, not even time can catch the mind on fire.
The earth moves in mysterious places open for all to see. This is how the still mind travels and the racing mind runs in circles searching for its peace. The shadows between the two dance with lighting to the sound of thunder surrounded by surfaces like a prism and in between each color the shadow sits silently wondering how they can’t see they’re one.
chrysalaneous 