Things that fly . . . at the mere kiss of the breezes . . .
the sun shines, warm and close . . . .
The birds are buzzing,
and the bees singing,
little things marching
on their parade grounds
find their place . . .
on this heaven we sometimes
call earth . . .
We force our way past gravity
reaching toward the unknown . . ..
dreaming of the impossible,
following our
star
The dragon folds
her treasure
into the palms of the lonely,
and dropping her demons to the floor she
lifts her wings
to shine against the
blazing sun
When I find myself lost
in the shadows
I wait, but a moment,
for the sun to follow
her road
above the horizon . . .
where she kisses
my cheeks
and breathes
her warm life giving
spirit
under my
sun dappled
wings . .
. . . and I am
the meadow,
I am the dream of tomorrow,
and the dance of the
eagle's eye,
sparkling . . . . . .
for that moment
that lasts forever . ..
*********************************************
I took all these pictures around Clackamas Town Center near Portland . . . A small meadow next to the I-205 freeway, inspired me the most . .. and all the art, hanging on poles which intrigue me . . .tend to appear in the most amazing places . . . where they capture the sun and reflect it back to the observer . . .
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