Neither old or new,
Sunlight paints an image without texture,
Cast on stone, reflecting my builders craft,
And the grains of person,
Dissected by knives of darkness,
Further defining the light,
And its beauty.

Designed to see what’s outside,
I contemplate the action on the inside,

What a beautiful distraction.

 

 

I can see the procession, but don’t know where they are going; perhaps I will follow anyway.

 

 

Once a life is defined by line of sight, or fences, the limits become obvious; or should I change my perspective?

 

Crowded bedfellows paint the colors of their soul.

Taking off the earth disappears from sight,

Leaving me to see my personality type,

And myself for perhaps the first time.

At least with any clarity.

 

Why has it taken so long for this image to appear,

All the reasons for my actions and reactions,

Faults and failings,

Good and bad,

The gifts I have been given.

And how I use them.

 

I like the colors I see,

The variations in the mountains,

Life giving lakes,

And their shorelines.

 

Where I can rest a while and figure out where God wants me to fly.

 

 

 

 

The wonder of the trees,

And their grassy friends, carpeting the extensive lounge,

Bathe us all in a green which makes us feel natural,

Seeking sun, water, life itself.

 

Reaching out to us, providing shelter, cover, shade and a peace-filled sanctuary.

 

 

 

If I can see it, why can’t the others,

The beauty in what we do,

How God is present in it all.

Yet, they continue to only see yesterday,

The negatives,

What they want, but cannot have.

 

Is it me, or is it the landscape?

Which needs to change?

 

Let me discern.

Not just a niggle,

The big one bursts into the room,

Flooding the floor with its presence,

Disturbing all the peace surrounding it,

Which is still visible,

But now irrelevant.

 

The big one could be fear itself, or her daughter,

Desire, the often-unwanted visitor,

Steps onto the floor, naked and pervasive,

Knowing how to become the center of attention.

Who drives these thoughts?

The source of what may become life changing moments,

 

Sometimes encapsulated in a single word, Or even silence,

As the cold-shouldered devil displays its cunning.

All designed to excite, invoke, and motivate.

Some action or response in us,

Which comes not from peace,

Or love, or especially God.

 

To self-destroy our spirit.

 

Let me return to the peaceful scene and scatter this thought.

Here I go again,

Some tranquil scene from nature,

Imagining day dreaming on the banks of the pond,

Contemplating how to solve the problems of life,

Or how lucky I am.

 

Not to have been born so sarcastic.

 

Or rather, with such a great sense of humor,

Which disguises my gratitude.