Echoes fade in and out of consciousness, preserved only by what we cannot see. Beyond the cat-eyed rulers of intricate tombs, before the brick-makers learned to tame the rivers in that blazing heat.
You can see it there, in the crook of an arm, the gentle tilt of a neck. We’ve tamed it now, yes, but are we not savages to our children and theirs?
Whispers reverberate now, bouncing off the interior of our minds like a lilting tune sung by a sweet sparrow.
Scenes come into focus, here. A mother hums, a child laughs, a father sighs returning home at last. Burdened by nothing, the ancients receive a blessing envied by this modernity: an untouched world.
Grasses sing in the breeze, secrets passed along by orange blossoms to the willow trees. Rivers gurgle and boil, racing each other down hills and through ravines.
Mysteries swirl in the heavens, stars too bright and numerous to number, they sit and wonder, telling stories of all they see. Myths from a mythical existence, how can we question all that is within them?
Dusty fingerprints scatter through lifetimes, gently guiding, may we never lose the stars in our eyes.
[Jan. 17, 2018]
I really like finding old things, because it feels like someone else wrote them and I have to figure out my own thoughts again. This was due to a prompt/drabble that had something to do with Time and how it flows through people.