Catching the hills push up the morning, with a gentle force to let the first seconds of a soft gold wash hurriedly stream under it’s silver feathery canopy, is rare. As it does, the grey molecules will scatter upwards to become more and more delicate, unrecognisable, so interspersed with the neo yellowy-bronze, they become invisible. But whilst it lasts, give me silver, give me gold.
On another morning, when the sky descends so deep to keep you guessing the landscape and its direction, one’s nerve can even question the authority of the head of the universe and the daily curriculum. Where on Earth did the sun go to this time? The response reveals itself in subtle reflection that will eventually become obvious to all.
Just as we may have begun to doubt Sol’s very existence, out of my bedroom window, sun spots of platinum glitterati take hold of the earthly material below it. Our offerings to civilisation of collective glass and metal rooves start to appear miniscule as the dominion of daylight reiterates it’s leadership with a strong vision to highlight man’s little efforts.
Suddenly any cynicism and assumptions of a sun god’s presence will stand on humble ground as we are all about to become very firmly corrected. Take heed, because on a daily basis the sun does not rise. It has never risen. On Earth it is only us who have been spinning and spinning and spinning – for around 4.5bn years. Its yarns must be worth a good few silver cloaked tales.
Through our spin, just as the dawn had dawned upon us, evening’s curtain rushes across untouchable Time to set a fast drama. Gold will now burn its ember skies to molten metal, whilst cooling pewter will draw over to our land and conserve our beloved rise and set for another day.
Happy Easter Saturday
© 2018 La Floralie 3