The spring evening cools the warm stone.
A heady perfume of grass and ground rises from behind the veiled sunset.
Night wings beat. A stillness comes.
From the front porch, sounds of child’s play call the heart to sift the years through open hands.
The memory of nights such as these coaxes the eyes to see once again the certain steps that must be taken.
Raise the curtain and trod the boards again.
Revelation thunders forth from the inner soliloquy.
Stars blaze into being one by one and are soon joined by a myriad of brilliant flames.
Share in the simple ancestral dreams.
Speak true words. Your words.
From your heart. To your soul.
Quench a thirsty world in a flowing cascade of truth.
Open the eyes of the sleepwalkers who struggle against the bindings of their own making.
The evening fades.
Luscious darkness envelops the blank sheet.
The world between worlds opens.
Dreams blaze into being one by one.
Excerpt from The Boomer Whisperer
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