the lost man chronicles
61. the magic in motion
During these first few days of September we have been blessed to behold some of the most beautiful skies I have ever witnessed in my lifetime. It is as if God herself decided to take up painting and used the horizon as her canvas.
Both at sunset and sunrise, I've seen dark purple mountains topped by a pink swath and violet whispers of nebulae. At dusk, after the sun has laid down to sleep and she is tucked cozy under the blanket of the earth, a brilliant moon has appeared to warm the heavens, one so incredibly lucent that the ridges of her peaks stood proudly enough to outline the curves of her blue craters.
A few hours later, we also have been fortunate enough to still be able to see Mars floating as the brightest star of the night, seemingly sitting passively on the left of la lune as she continues to orbit yonder, back into another 60,000 years.
The sun this morning sat atop the trees as if she were nestling—a bright red-breasted robin overlooking her somnolent ones, poised to rouse with a few prods of her beak and then invigorate them with a song.
She serenely rested there long enough for me to walk to the bus stop and fully open my senses to the crisp positive energy that redolently hung everywhere.
Apparently, the magic that changes the seasons is in motion, for it feels as if Fall is here. Summer is still lingering, quietly pulling aloof, looming like a jealous lover with sultry showers to wash away her memory.
the dizziness of awe .60 62. lunar spontaneity