(Nothing but) Flowers
As I sit and listen in silence to the earth breath, a sound carries and rolls across the empty valleys.
Music.
Tin-like and hollow, echoing like waves on rocky cliffs. Light beyond the magic hour burns it's final rays with dancing reds like blood and waving oranges and yellows like fire, intertwined with the black of night.
Still the music plays. I recognize it more for it's mood than for it's melody. This would be a welcome change, but it's voice brings a sense of foreboding. It brings the need to dig deep where the music can't find me.
Music.
Tin-like and hollow, echoing like waves on rocky cliffs. Light beyond the magic hour burns it's final rays with dancing reds like blood and waving oranges and yellows like fire, intertwined with the black of night.
Still the music plays. I recognize it more for it's mood than for it's melody. This would be a welcome change, but it's voice brings a sense of foreboding. It brings the need to dig deep where the music can't find me.