The grass that was baked in the sun now filled with its daily ration of moisture brightened the air, cooling the morning dew to the chill of an autumn leaf. Bright colors fading so slightly to the point of nonexistence. Yet inevitable for its true nature to return as a herald of its magnificence. Songs sang so lightly, free in nature and definition.
Painted in the mind of the scarlet oak slept its past, many in its way and kind. Bright with its family, and lame with its birthright. Yet there they stand, taller than the highest of men.
The whisper of the wind, bringing small truths from distant places. The air is weightless in the valley of gold. And the crisp atmosphere of the evergreen.
These senses harmonize and sing the song of pure nature. Free from the poisonings of the politics, money, war, and greed of men. Free from the sight of the monopolies that wish to taint is purity.
But is Man so sinful?
A burst of joyous laughter pierces the sounds of the morning. Building the weightlessness, then tearing it to the hearth below its feet. Free in nature, bound by morales. Unknowingly to its future, yet mindful of the present.
Was it's true nature destruction? Or was it's true meaning meant to grow and build?
It's answer?
"Purity is binding to love, once you let go of purity, you may no longer love the things you once did."
"An extension of the mind is simply the binging of faith."
"Where you stand now, is where you will fall."
YOU ARE READING
My minds eye
RandomMultiple short stories, and the book where you can peer into my mind of mystery, action, tragedy and much more! Thank you my deer readers for reading my sometimes not so great stories, or at times, real works of art. Time is such a funny thing, it's...
