In the calm before dawn,
the facade of this splintered world
retreats as though it never existed
a glance at solemn truth tucked
just inside the storied shadows,
dancing like pixies on the dew-kissed grass.
Inhaled and exhaled by the morning’s breath,
No hierarchy, nothing
starved for attention,
only equilibrium,
a balance woven
from the warmth
of golden light.
The babbling creek carves
its truth through Earth and through stone,
its little current— motion, memory, and time.
Carrying the weight of ancient rains,
steady in its flow, caressing, unyielding yet soft.
A swallow's wings slice through the sky,
flight, wind, no fleeting desires.
It seeks no throne, no dominion,
but finds its joy in the arc of ascent
and thrilling dives towards the grounded.
Beneath the old oak tree, roots entwine,
quiet strength, unseen, uncelebrated.
They grip the rich loam, quench the thirst,
hold tight against storms,
their silent labor is a testament to humble balance.
At dusk, the stars again show their faces,
light, vastness, and dreams half-remembered.
Each radiates without rivalry, each a spark in the infinite.
Not a single one demands the night.
Equilibrium is their chorus in perfect pitch,
And together give us the gift of their song.
~Eric Vance Walton~
(Gifs made by Grok.)