Still They Came
Breath stood frozen in mid-air, and—still—they came.
Sunset marked the end of day, and—still--they came.
Blankets bundled over coats and gloves, teeth chattered, bones ached, muscles tensed and shivered, and—still—they came.
In the darkness: vision became sound, touch, smell, taste, intuition, instinct; and arm-in-arm, hand-in-hand, they walked.
Lungs filled with the breath of trees, minds soared on imaginal wings and in celebration of being noticed and cherished, Mother Earth danced.
Streambeds bubbled with laughter.
Curtains of black velvet dressed the landscape, winds tussled ringlets and boughs.
Great pines swayed slowly in silhouette and Aspen leaves praised with applause.
Suddenly, the music went silent. Time ceased to exist.
Cascades of night diamonds descended while Mother Earth and Father Sky embraced.
Shivers came, not from cold, but awe, when there was no separation of heaven and earth.
And they were glad they came.