Lady Labyrinth In the evening sun I see her as she runs from me, ethereal, lithe, delicate. Along privet passages and dark lanes. Through the golden grasses, throughout the bubbling stream, through the warm rain and the bright meadow. I see her fleetingly, a stolen glimpse, a heel or a hand or her hair flowing in the sunset, her skin perfect in the moonlight. And her lips laugh lightly, her joy echoing through the still air. Her scent calls me on, exotic, narcotic and feral. The hunt is on! Is she animal or angel or devil? Or siren, calling me to my end? Or the chorus of my dawn? Will I reach her heart? Or will we run forever like the sun and moon, the buck and the doe? I run on, breathless and alive, rising and falling, before She lifts me again. I stumble on. She is ahead, to the right, maybe to the left, maybe behind, above and below, but always out of reach.
Rock Of Ages A face is weathered and eroded by winds of time and storms of #life. As one grows older the winds blow harder and colder and the storms grow more fierce until the rock of your existence is weathered away like sandstone. Finally you are sand on the wind leaving nothing to say you were even here. But yet somewhere the sand settles and accumulates, in crevices and cracks at first, later in the thinnest of layers. The wind brings more sand, more lives, more memories and the sand grows into dunes that ripple and shift and engulf that which will not be moved by the wind.
Rachal
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