On a mountain

Here in the upper reaches of the mountain
We rest on a sun-baked rocky slope.
 
How the continents must have heaved and clashed
And gentle water coaxed the valleys.
Once upon a time.
 
Now we see the land below
The trees bunched like tightly woven wool
The houses and paths and cerulean lakes in miniature.
In the silence a lark twitters somewhere.
A strand of breeze brings the warm scent of wildflowers
And the essence of time.
~

The open door

The words have left.
There are no descriptions
no dialogues, no arguments.

This light does not need colors.
Sound is a harsh interruption
in the transparent wave of silence
blissful in its emptiness.

A state of being.
Just
being.

Photo: courtesy Magpie Tales