The Passage

The sky is painted with crimson brush strokes, as the winds of haste fade to calm. Take pause from tasks that hinder your soul, and reflect on your growth and achievements. Know you have made a difference in the world in quiet and subtle ways. In ways that are hidden in the warm mist far from turmoil of the surface waves. Be still and absorb the rejuvenating spirit of sunset breezes.

I hear the world differently than you. Visual cues present themselves, and guide me in ways unknown to most. I hear rustling leaves through oscillating shimmer, as they dance to an East wind’s command. The splash of a Northern Pike delights me, as ripples radiate then fade to still waters. A loon’s crimson eyes rise and fall in royal splendour, as its lonely call brushes my soul. Night falls as ashen shadows and azure skies cloak reflective silence. All who bear witness unite in my world. I am not alone in the presence of the night birch.