About a week ago I was driving home, listening to Kite Runner on CD. The author wrote he cried upon first seeing the beauty of the Pacific Ocean. Now, I have been touched by the wonder of nature. So much so, you already know, because I expound on it all the time. But, I thought on what it would take, what kind of moment it would make the tears roll and the words form into rhyme.
I’m sorry. There I go again. This was supposed to be a piece without rhyimg. O.K., let’s try this again.
A few days later, I witnessed this scene at the ‘golden hour’. Golden Hour is the time of day an hour before the sunlight will disappear behind the western ridge. The rays perforate the silent forest, dripping golden tears on the leaves in an evening rain of backlit beauty. Unable to process its enormity, I release my own tears.
Photo by Mar Startari, 2019