The glistening beads of water slide down the leaves, gently caressing them as they slowly well up at the tip before falling to the ground below. Scattered across the landscape on every tree, and on each blade of grass, the tiny droplets of water feel the warmth of the morning sun as its light embraces all it touches. The chill in the air lingers for a while before it slowly fades away like an old memory that’s endured the strain of time, leaving only echoes of the night behind.
A night that silently wept for the day that was, as tears fell upon the breeze unseen, before condensing on the surface of the land below. A night that mourned for the day that shall never come again, as a new dawn does not bring about the same day as before, but births a new day like that of an infant child who’s just entered the world. Yet, for a new day to come, the old must end. And with that end, there is but just a small piece of all living things that is taken from them, as life is not immune to the hands of time.
The morning sun’s heat finally diminishes the dew, scattering the particles into the air where they await the night, to be wept again. For who shall mourn the day that was, if not the night?
Author’s Note:
It’s been a while since I’ve posted, again. Things have been…. stressful lately. With financial issues among other things, posting has been at the back of my mind. But the words have not. I usually post a new picture with my pieces, but at this time I don’t have one to go with this yet. I know what I want to capture, but with everything on my mind I haven’t done so yet. For now, my default will have to do.
I hope you enjoyed the piece above.
Thanks for reading,
N
MyNameIsDespair 