Those whose souls aren't stirred by -
The pleasant and slightly unsettling fragrance of fresh earth
The cold enveloping light of the moon
The delicious warmth of a light breeze on a hot summer's day
And when I say stirred,
I don't just mean some passing feeling
I mean that joyful painful yearning from the bottom of your soul
That spreads through your whole being and consumes you
For that moment - however brief,
Of spiritual bliss, if you will.
And when it passes,
You are not the same you
From a few seconds or minutes ago
You are the earth,
The moon, the breeze
The pain, the joy
The moment.
Do you ever feel that the others can never really see or feel you the way those with the soul of an artist can?