Knees pulled tight to chest,
I press into the hush of hills,
breathe shallow,
eye shadows,
watch.
Barely bending
under whisper of a breeze,
like bristles in an artists hand,
wooded arms stretch feathered bark
to lofty heights,
sweep languid against the sphere,
to follow celestial caravan.
Silent vault of voices stilled,
the firmament.
Shimmering luminaries,
sojourning soul,
suspended star with story to be told.
Time, confused by eternity.
Prayer, choked by immensity.
Humanity cheated by sin,
redeemed in red.
Small me.
L.Paddock
What is man, that thou are mindful of him?
Psalm 8:4
