My sleep-filled eyes take in the constant that is dawn. Through a treeline, budding with green, with trunk and limb and twig still black with the cold of winter, I gratefully accept the interruption of day.
I wake to a sky drowning in hues of orange, a soothing contrast to the grey of the frost absorbing the edges of moonset, clamoring and clinging to the last shreds of night’s end.
The stunning daylight is tenacious; she stubbornly saves her reveal until the outstretched arms, under the new dome of blue secure the last light of the night.
Welcome my Nature God, and your generous dousing of cyan to color the day.
Bring me your sunrise oh glorious life. Take me to borrowed tomorrows timed by the reliable turn of the planet and season.
Open my eyes wide to the gifts of the living. Wash me in rainstorms, introduce fertile earth to the air.
Let me nurture within me, these moments of transition; free me from winter, feed me spring’s song.
Give me crocus to worship, tender-hearted lovers to hold; a coupling seduction until I grow old.
#for Reticent Mental Property. Image courtesy of the web.
The sun sets behind me on the drive home from the lake.
It is a brilliant cup-of-the-sun, the top shrouded by clouds, the reddest of reds, chasing me home.
I feel it holds a million what ifs, and it might pour them over me if I will slow down for just a moment and let it cover me in sweetness.
I couldn’t get a picture- but in an instant, it changes.
Sun, she is woman?
Suddenly the sunset is reversed and I only see the upper half, and the sky is silver now.
I realize beauty changes, how our idea of beauty changes- it sneaks up behind us and changes us- always for the better.
Oh…they are all beautiful….sunrises, sunsets…all different, but the same.
Day comes in, day goes out; the constants in this life.
So grateful to have the world continue her rhythms while I try and keep up with life’s pace.
for Reticent Mental Property. Image courtesy of the web or a thousand others who photograph, and share, and trust the sunsets of our days.
The Nakedness of Woman is the Work of God by William Blake
If I were forced to go to church,
I would worship at the altar
of the naked female body,
my head bowed down
in reverent respect.
Tiny diminutive shoulders and full-round breasts;
smooth silky skin and curvaceous wide hips;
which flare out forming the shape of a heart;
long long slender legs that come to a point,
in the dusky wonder of her groin;
the female form divine,
so different from mine,
soft and yielding,
I have done nothing more beautiful in my life
than in solemn silence pass the night
slowly running the back of my hand
along the length of her body
in the pale moonlight.
drinking in with my eyes
the glory and divinity
of the nakedness of woman.
She takes a pull of the sweet dark brew while he closes boxes containing the nudes.
He: I agree with Blake and couldn’t have written it more beautifully. And your figure is every bit as beautiful as what is on his page.
She: Thank you, and regardless of the truth of your statement, Brian’s work makes it believable. He enjoys giving women, the gift of not just feeling beautiful, but being beautiful….the tangible, touchable, beautiful proof printed on canvas and therefore, undeniable, even to her own mind’s eye… Smiles. Now Back to work here.
Knowing the number of women who would lend themselves to his lens and better, pay him for it, she kept telling him he needed to market this gift, let them walk in the mist with him, quit his day job. He would shrug his shoulders, send her into the forest, raise his camera and instruct her to drop her dress, again.