Mar 2016
With this gentle wind flowing slow,
thoughtfully,
even more so mysteriously.
The mind can only spin in it's imagination.
Soulfully soaring through its thoughts, gliding, drifting, as if in a daze.
Reminiscing times not yet remembered.
As if this mind holds in its tender, delicate hands, secret things of wondrous, soft, sweet, yet thick, secure times of playfully enormous spirit.
As i ponder my own times.
I find that i have experienced such feelings in everyday movements.
Yet they are so thin in comparison.
As a child these feelings seemed so much closer.
And as i reflect i find that even in this wondrous time of sweet softness and livid day dreams,
the soft memories of my youth are the fading memories of my mind, carefully enacting all of my mysterious surroundings.
Enwrapping me, surrounding all that i could see, as if to hold all that existed.
As if all things were sopping with this thick universal ooze that made all things come alive.
And yet i am left here with only the truth that this beauty of movement is the one thing that escapes all of us, yet we see it when it seems to happen, we think we sometimes seem to feel what is majestic in intensity.
But we are never really sure.
So as i sit here on this hill, i only know what thousands must know.
In loves fleeting moments of rushing life, free in its time and thoughts.
One must ride theseflows as a river moves when flooding a ****** creek, widening our limits, lengthening our lives, digging us deeper into our mothers womb.
For when the flood fades we are all left open, our naked bodies showing the world how empty we feel when our hearts no longer are full of the one thing that made us.
And we are all left only hoping for the promise of another spring.
late 80's early 90's
Ricci Moon Scott
thoughtfully,
even more so mysteriously.
The mind can only spin in it's imagination.
Soulfully soaring through its thoughts, gliding, drifting, as if in a daze.
Reminiscing times not yet remembered.
As if this mind holds in its tender, delicate hands, secret things of wondrous, soft, sweet, yet thick, secure times of playfully enormous spirit.
As i ponder my own times.
I find that i have experienced such feelings in everyday movements.
Yet they are so thin in comparison.
As a child these feelings seemed so much closer.
And as i reflect i find that even in this wondrous time of sweet softness and livid day dreams,
the soft memories of my youth are the fading memories of my mind, carefully enacting all of my mysterious surroundings.
Enwrapping me, surrounding all that i could see, as if to hold all that existed.
As if all things were sopping with this thick universal ooze that made all things come alive.
And yet i am left here with only the truth that this beauty of movement is the one thing that escapes all of us, yet we see it when it seems to happen, we think we sometimes seem to feel what is majestic in intensity.
But we are never really sure.
So as i sit here on this hill, i only know what thousands must know.
In loves fleeting moments of rushing life, free in its time and thoughts.
One must ride theseflows as a river moves when flooding a ****** creek, widening our limits, lengthening our lives, digging us deeper into our mothers womb.
For when the flood fades we are all left open, our naked bodies showing the world how empty we feel when our hearts no longer are full of the one thing that made us.
And we are all left only hoping for the promise of another spring.
late 80's early 90's
Ricci Moon Scott
