Originally, I'd planned a lighthearted post for this week;
however, after tragic loss, I've chosen a more somber tone. A dear
friend of mine unexpectedly lost her husband a few days ago and my heart
breaks for her.
Therefore, in honor of my friend:
~May your strength in spirit allow you to find peace, and someday, once the dust has settled, may you witness the beauty of a West Texas sunset again.
In Memory of a Sunset
The
sun shines on her face, illuminating truth.
Before. The inscrutable
darkness, which consumed his conscious approached like rumbling clouds in a black, violent dirt storm. The air smelled of clay and the
impending sand storm approached. Mercurial moods orchestrated the production, indifferent to those who stood below. Earth mother, the playwright,
wrote the script long ago and the gods directed the actors: wind, sky and
sand. Peering out onto that untamed stage, the
woman noticed the trees shimmy and writhe, shaking their nerves before
the play began. They stretched and warmed
their muscles diligently preparing for their mimes. The clay and sky
clasped hands, for on this day their characters aligned in quiet indignation and
united in muddy colors of muted red and gray. The trees angrily cried out
to the sands, who nod and began their ascension to the sky.
The
dust builds in prolific grandeur, producing a prodigious dark cloud of
dirt. Ominous and unyielding, the callous storm blocks the pleasant
sun. Onlookers grieve the sight and scurry inside to find shelter. But
shelter cannot be found, for the dirt creeps through crevices and
settles on still surfaces. If only all would rest atop a surface;
instead particles crash and collide against the air, suffocating those
who desperately desire the calming rays of sun. Rain will not come.
The sun will not shine. Blue skies remain at bay, blocked by cruel
winds who pull from the desert floor and thrash grit across the
landscape. Relief will not come.
Eventually the wind
tires, eventually the haze of dust falls. Vivid memories return like happiness in a jar released by the musty scent of dancing sprinklers, the distinct cool fragrance of earth covered by water. Laughing
children echo in a distant past. Soft whispers are heard, whispers exchanged by lovers on
back porches; lovers who know and keep shared secrets. Time heals all hurts, so they say; gratefully, memories remain. The air is still now, the sun is setting. And softly, the sun peeks over the earth's horizon
to whisper goodnight, and with sincerest apology he offers his
condolences. "You see," he says, "the remnants of clay make for
beautiful sunsets." Shades of gold and burgundy fill the sky in
monumental farewell, reminding us that the peace is found at dusk and the
sun will brighten the Eastern sky in the morning.
Inspired by:
From In Memory of W.B. Yeats by W.H. Auden:
In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountain start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise.
In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountain start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15544#sthash.DPIdoL6P.dpuf
In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountain start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15544#sthash.DPIdoL6P.dpuf
In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountain start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15544#sthash.DPIdoL6P.dpuf
