Like a million moths flittering through the air that is how flooded my mind was with sunny summer times and wisps of pine trees in winter. Bridging the gaps were the spring times full of promise and autumns leafy prisms. The wheel of time both night and day spun like a bicycle reflecting the light in beams and rays.
Sparks and images percolated freely and symbiotically behind two brown curtains. They fueled facial expressions, soulful sonatas and deep longing buried in the oceans of time. The flutter moved in and around me carrying me high in its chariot of renewal.
Now the swirls and curls won’t unfurl. Where did they all go? The curtains are gathering dust.
Yvonne A.
May 2020
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