Selection 8 of
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Twilightby John Kentof the old Victorian house facing the bay, where cool breezes wet down summer heat and white sails float with graceful ease on the calm waters of the inlet, the street at its end rests peacefully under the abundant shade of an old oak tree. Standing strong and thick around its trunk ...it promises eternity. But in the early twilight, wizened by a swiftness of years, I know even this oak will one day fall as everything and everyone does. Eternity is left to God and we are left with a sliver of time. In the twilight I atttempt to recapture those fleeing years as the breezes whisper and wash over my face leaving a breath of vitality and youthfulness. From the porch, I marvel at the sky neither blue or gray, turning its colors brilliant at the edge of Heaven. On the porch...still, as twilight fades into darkness and stars shine their light... through barriers of time, I know even stars are not eternal and although their light is still visible, many have died eons ago. I think of my motherless children, off somewhere hoping they are courting their days in worthwhile ways. Grown old with this house, I have come to this twilight and have seen the golden rim of the sun fall behind the hills on the other side of the bay. |
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Selection 8 of
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