looking up at the moon. a sliver, slightly tilted to the right.
laying on the ground... my back is pushing the grass back towards the earth.
a fire burns... the crackle and flicker tells me so. i don't need to look at the flame to know it is there.
it's cold. but not 'i-can-see-my-breath' cold.
a rustling of leaves to my left.
the whistle of the gentle breeze across my face.
the surface of the sky is black with speckles.
stars sprinkle the sky like dust scattered in the hues of evening sun.
dust in light.
stars at night.
and shavings of the moon light up the horizon.
reflected like panes of glass.
silence expanded too far in every direction.
this modern love... a portrait of an image that can not be fully grasped.
i might as well be staring at a painting in an art museum.
i look and gaze and try to see it for all it's worth. i cannot look away.
i am drawn in - searching for it's inner beauty.
trying to figure out what it is that captivates me.
i don't have an answer.
i don't need an answer.
i just need to remember that it captivates me.
i just need to remember to look at it from time to time.
i just need to remember that it is beautiful.
i connect with the canvas like the paintbrush connects with imagination.
the flickering spark catches my eye. i sit up.
shake the leaves off of my back...
and warm myself by the fire.
i am about to be drawn in again for the very first time.