“A still small voice”
Time can pass…
Time can pass like a cold honey in the spoon.
It can pass like a day before a day awaited.
It can pass like bad days after good.
It can pass with success and fine things to fill the days-but no things may fill the night. Perhaps that’s what it is to be grown. It is to look at a toy-whether it be a book or poems or a picture in a frame-and to feel no inner joy that may distract one from all the aloneness. No marionette makes company.
So time can pass.
Eyes can grow big. Eyes can narroew. All in darkness. Voices we know may whisper to us in sleep. Perhaps we do not recognize them, but we feel them as we feel a held hand. Or we may feel what it is to feel a hand of dropped.
Thus, time passes.
And I mean not to paint a sad picture, for I was not sad. My days were filled and bright. My friends were many. Yet still, there were days that I wished for night…night..night.. As if it might bring more than just colder air, and bluer world.
And thus, did two years go by…
And I might stand at a window, or sit on the back porch of the big white house, and watch the passenger pigeons roll their way under the clouds- and i would think how scripture says life is but a shadow.. And so life and the people in it sometimes seemed to me-mere shadows. And not shadows of towers or great monuments, but shadows of flying birds. And thus the birds would fly away, leaving niether bird nor sahdow. . .
