With The Coming Of Winter

Forming upon a branch is a tiny drop with a charming dormouse at its top. Easing gracefully through the meadows it will slither through the wheat fields and while springing, carefree in its element, it knows as if to describe the wonders it has concealed. A shower begins to fall upon the flowers which glisten and a rainbow appears and has revealed the everlasting source of now and then. Soon the autumn will pass into the snows squalling through the gardens and listen as the chipmunks scamper past with a lightning fast motion once again. Inexplicably the candor of Nature’s storm keeps me grinning and exceedingly warm as the fireplace crackles, glooms and glows. Lovingly the coziness overwhelms us and we’ll wander up the stairwell each other to adorn. Dreamfully enchanted we ponder at last exposing the secret of the passion we grasp. Endearing the dormouse who channeled this course we will sooth our fathomed friend as once before. Then comes a harlequin with riddles and prose enabling the saddened to frolic though forlorn. Whimsical portraits bring laughter and flabbergast the comic as the Sabbath’s bells do peal. Steadfast are the rivals standing at rest endowing their legions of failure who plead for the best. Sacred intonations ring through the heavens imploring the cherubs while a trueborn native is in search of the holy grail. Trickling is the drop from the branch above leaving us with paradoxes alone to think of. Then, lucidly clear comes the perception of the perfect hour. Summoning our greater internal power we will incite our weary souls to sail.