The sun shines brightly above the gray and wet blanket that hangs heavily in the nearby heavens. The light is scattered, spread by a sky-broad brush. Colors sink back. The trees whisper together.
Still the moss is green. The water still runs. Clambering through clefts, over rocks, searching endlessly for its destination. All the water knows where it must go. The sea beckons. But no sadness does the water carry. It knows it will return to the mountain top, after leaping from the clouds to which it will miraculously rise from the sea.
There is no sorrow in the gloom. Though the day be bleak, the fire of the spirit is warm. Swift feet dance around it. Colors, bright and rich festoon the scene. Music plays! Beneath the willow, tree at the river.
When night falls, nightfall, river of night, then sleep, night's daughter, comes to you, let her see through your eyes the colors rising, reflecting on your water.
So fly on over the beaches, leave the fields behind.
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