A thousand dragons struggle in the countryside: providence smiles. Joy comes softly and tiny feet dance upon the altar of time. Night closes its door and draws a gesture of hands kneeling at the rail. Celebrations carry the clock forward: eggs will be cracked and omelets made, the pepper and the salt will rejoice, and the kettle will sing. Headstones in the cemetery direct us toward a future rooted in the past, unless one of them is yours. History barely reveals the secrets hidden away in time’s purse, idle and unspent as miser’s gold, useless as the mandates of grammar or water that flows toward loneliness.
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"Headstones in the cemetery direct us
toward a future rooted in the past,
unless one of them is yours."
Oooo, that is so good Paul. Ties in beautifully with your other post today. Both great work, thank you ❤🙏
Full of wisdom!