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By chris Date: 2006 Jun 21 Comment on this Work [[2006.06.21.14.07.23445]] |
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Almost sunset and our Tibetan prayer flags blow in the breeze - warm and straight from the south over all this land, over all those stories - speaking in color and movement of a place and a faith we only half understand. Clouds look filled with the dust that hangs in the air on evenings like this - evenings of the wind they'd call something musical like Santa Ana if we were in California, but here has no name - yet ripe and pink-inflected like watermelon mountains all the same, quickly getting lost in the dark. The work of this life never really ends, just pauses, stops in place, gives us sometimes space to breathe, forget that the cottonwood leaves now making this horizon green will fall in the coming cold but before that - turn a gold so beautiful it will break your heart. |