Gazing in the morning haze. Contemplating the transformation of decay. Heat and moisture, rising mist, leaving dead foliage to mulch. Nourishing both earth and air.
The fat, waning moon, last night, spread its light three times its breadth. Winking now and then through its veil of clouds, as if it were revelling in the enormity of its obscured presence.
Light requires no medium. Pure energy knows no bounds. It does, however, need them to show forms. Without limits, there would be nothing but a blank canvas. Be it black or white, a stark nothingness.
Are we so hell-bent on “freedom” that we have completely lost sight of the intent of civilization itself?
I could get lost in the fog of angst that falls from such questions. I would rather revel in knowing that I haven’t. And, be a happy cloud, allowing the moon to spread obscured light across the sky… And, to your eyes.