An aura of vulnerable elegance perches on time-wrinkled Rockies as they bow to the ivory kingdom. Powerful on land, the stately mountains appear meek, almost fragile, from above, their grace that of an unassuming servant.
I exhale away all restraint, and my spirit somersaults into the simple castle of white and blue. Each cloud charms in a homey, handmade way: wispy ballerinas mid-pirouette, a broken man’s sorrowful tears, a baby elephant in triumphant celebration of mama’s return. I wonder if they are old souls lost in time.
I search for the carpenter’s home, for a glimpse of heaven, but perhaps it is hidden, or I am not looking hard enough, for no such thing appears.
There’s no rush anyways.
Laze ambles by with seductive promises of dreams and desire, so I let him sing me to sleep.