Saturday, January 29, 2005


Watching the mist
competing with the darkness
to dissolve trees.

Watching the cinders of sunset
pale into monochrome. Only the curl of distant cloud tops ink fine etchings on watery sky.

Beauty seeps into dull consciousness.
Art arranges from random conjunctions.

Despite the deep tragedies of humanity, our wasted divinities, the shallow emptiness of our indulgences,

We are forgiven enough to be lavished with beauties,
wooed with mysteries, courted with miracles.

In this wonder of life
Let me be glad participant.

(c) A McN

Celtic folklore regarded sunset and sunrise as times when "the curtains between the worlds" were thinnest. Whether they were right or wrong, the slender moments between the day world and the night world is often a time for reflection and an unusual inner stillness.


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