There is a light, yonder distant.
It shines in the night, deceiving on into thinking there is a house, distant yonder.
But there is only forest.
There is a sound distant near, a kettle settling to the boil.
It bubbles, it roars, deceiving one into thinking that tea is in the offering.
It isn’t.
Brussel sprouts need cooking.
There is a thought, often distant.
It dances, it spins.
Deceiving one into thinking that there is something beyond the horizon.
There isn’t.
This is all there is.
editors's note - this post has been time delayed, future scheduled. when i get back from celebrating The New year in a New Place i will change the colour of this border.
No comments:
Post a Comment