Some words beg to be heard
Desolate are the places routinely known, comforts once considered life are now suspended. Although the hands of time present uncertainty in these days, in these hours, now. Let us ponder on the things that remain the same.
The waves will continue to roll into the sand, our footprints will surely be swayed effortlessly away with the flowing tides. The sun will still beam through the clouds and the grass will continue to grow evergreen through summers touch.
The birds will sing upon rising and the crickets chirp can still be heard by evenings entrance. The stars are still bright, a sparkle in the nights sky, still as boundless and thought provoking as the age of any time.
Our gardens will grow, perhaps even bloom in front of our eyes, as our gaze is ushered closer to the things we are naturally attuned to. The trees, as wise as ever, will remain sturdy, perhaps our reminder of strength in trying times.
Desolate are the places routinely known, but in nature we trust to guide us back to the beginning, lessons of what will always remain and what we strive to keep in our view. In these days, in these hours, now.
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