Once beautiful flowers wither away, falling silently onto the graying ground. The bloody red sun begins to sink, casting a shadow and turning white into ash. Cries of bitter resentment are heard….somewhere, over the dark horizon. Yet, as the cries are flowers, they begin to fade softly; away and trailing off into the distance. They are white doves, taking their last silent breath into the night.
But there is a faint sound. A listener opens his ear. In the midst of the dying land, a tiny green has peaked. A new brilliant miracle stands strong against the bitter-harsh, withered heap. Rejoicing, the sun pokes its yellow head above the wave! And for a second, the land is washed in golden shimmering light!
But, as all things must leave, it soon retreats, slowly sinking back into its’ hiding place. And the world is once again stone.
Yet in the distance, in a far wanted place, the little green is still growing, and holds on.
No comments:
Post a Comment