Who can regret the chill of the wind and the smell of the air in the spring when the sun sets? I love it when the heavens bleeds crimson with splashes of leftover daylight prophesying hints of yellow like screaming oracles; burnt orange clouds cementing inside the belly of the sky. The way that birds defy the darkness to find refuge in the path of light, soaring on the backs of colors like they were some tangible thing and beige highlights swinging low like sweet chariots. Even the wind rejoices in the shadows of the rest of the sunlight bouncing off the concrete, hoping to capture as much of its essence as possible before it retires into its chamber. Whether you’re driving home from work or sitting on the front porch mesmerized by the cool wind, the silence of nightfall and the sky, it’s the little things that bring calm. Let it fill your empty. Turn your distress into dancing, solemn into singing. Good night.
Welcome back to another episode of Writer’s Quote Wednesday Writing Challenge as hosted by Colleen of Silver Threading and Ronovan of Ronovan Writes. Now, I drafted this post as a piece of creative writing in general at first as part of another prompt. Then I thought to myself, “Wonder what the writing theme is today?” That’s when I went to Colleens blog and found Mystery. “Cool! I was already writing about the mysterious fog.” So, below is my creative piece and writer’s quote.
Dear fog, your kind of a mystery. I mean, what’s going on in there? I imagine its like when the clouds rise from their heavenly thrones like marching bands just to see what the ground feels like. Like when angels bow and secret themselves in the blanket of the air. Something familiar enough for the humans to recognize without fear. Fog. That moment when spirit meets earth in search of its other half. Floating its way through time wrapped in clouds and smelling of forever. I wonder if we become one with eternity just by walking through you. Like hands dipped in hope; the smell of expectation against our noses; a taste of courage on our tongues.
I think the Earth and everything around it is connected – the sky and the planets and the stars and everything else we see as a mystery.
– Marion Cotillard
Have you ever walked outside at dusk and noticed all the colors in the sky? The way the moon just bleeds crimson bright; splashes of daylight prophesying hints of yellow like screaming oracles, and burnt orange autumns that cements itself inside the belly of the sky. The way that birds defy the darkness to find refuge in the path of light, soaring on the backs of indigo clouds or beige highlights swinging low like sweet chariots. Even the wind rejoices in the shadows of the moonlight bouncing off the concrete. As for me, I can’t take my eyes off the sky. I wish only to pull up a chair, dip my hands into a bowl of moon; sip it slow like a glass of Sauvignon on Saturday night when my resting has come to an end; let it fill my empty; turn my distress into dancing.