Posts Tagged ‘Dreams’
Shyly the small tulip opens her petals. She is the first and knows not what to expect.
The air is cool and clear. From somewhere high above music falls from the throats of birds. It is unlike any she has ever known, alive and filled with gladness.
The light is soft and fills everything. Color is everywhere, and beyond what must be the arms of trees, an infinite sky sings a morning Gloria.
She had been told that it would be more beautiful than words could tell, than any mere flower could imagine. But this, this exceeded the farthest stretches of her highest dreams. And she opens her petals and dances with joy.
As if she were preparing a table for guests, the lake covered her open places with fresh ice and the snow settled across it like pressed linen.
It fell into the cupped leaves of the brush on the lake’s banks, onto the spread boughs of the trees, into the webs of needles on the pines. It was a generous snow, blanketing every inch of the earth for miles around.
And when at last the morning came, we woke to a world so brilliant that it seemed we were still dreaming our finest, most luminous dreams.
Still, the air was crisp and cold. You never knew, when you greeted a December morning, what the day would hold.
They told their mothers about their dreams, and the mothers smiled. “What a gift!” the oak said to the little leaf. “How beautiful!” the mother pine said.
The children asked why there was no snow. And the mothers said that dreams had a timing of their own. Some of them foretold events that might take a while to unfold in our world.
“But it’s a very pretty morning, nonetheless, don’t you think?” the oak said. “Why don’t you get your friend and see what surprises the woodland might have for you today?”
And before the words had left her mouth, the little pine appeared on their threshold, eyes bright and ready for adventure. Off the two pals ran. And their mothers smiled and wondered what tales they would bring home with them today.
The nocturnal animals were waking now, and setting out for the evening’s hunt. But they were, for the most part, small, and hardly made a sound as they scurried across the fallen leaves.
But up above, mighty winds were sweeping clouds across the sky. Their leading edges were soft and sheer as if the sky were drawing a lavender veil across its face. Even in their depths, they looked powdery and light. Yet they moved at a great speed and began to gather together in growing layers.
And the oak, who had seen many seasons, watched from the edge of the hill, and knew that the sky was spinning dreams of snow.
Autumn spends her hues as if there were no end to them. Her extravagance knows no bounds. But there’s a reason for her madness. The season of monochromes follows on her heels. In the meantime, let the world be bright with color.
Let it sink into every eye and pool in every mind. And when the nights are long, let it sing in the world’s dreams.
These tones sing the symphony of the seasons and are its culmination. Breathe them into your soul and know their joy.
So many emotions filled September’s heart as she packed to leave, so much nostalgia and joy. She had seen the fulfillment of sweet Summer’s days, and the arrival of glorious Autumn. She had painted the skies with color and rain and watched the sun and songbirds begin their southerly journeys.
Now Summer’s crops were ready for Autumn’s harvest, and the fields were filled with gold.
There was but one task left to do. Looking from horizon to horizon, September gathered in Summer’s finest dreams and the highest hopes of Autumn. Then, wrapping them with love, she spun them into strands of light and fastened them to the seeds of tiny yellow flowers. They would be her legacy, carrying her best into the tomorrows that were yet to be.
Her work completed, September gazed at the beauty of the forests and fields, of the ponds and creeks, the lakes and rivers and streams, the lawns, the streets, the homes. And her gratitude spilled across the landscape in a sweep of brilliant gold, and all the world sang in joy.
But once the vision is clear, it’s just a matter of holding it in mind, and moving in its direction one step at a time.
The elves who paint the leaves know this, and spurred on by a dream of a spectacular autumn, they’ve hauled out their buckets and begun.
If you look, you will see how subtly they work, dabbing yellow on the edges of leaves here and there, and spots of crimson on some of the maples.
It will be weeks before some folks even notice. But then they’ll be amazed and say to one another, “Have you noticed that the trees are turning? I saw the most beautiful scarlet maple this morning!”
January dusts the ground with one light, final blanket of snow and bids the earth’s children sweet dreams. They’re nestled in well now for their long winter sleep.
Gazing down at them, she tenderly smiles and tucks the dusk around them. “Rest well, dear ones,” she softly sings. “Sleep deeply, and build your strength, for Spring will come before you know.”
Then she turns and sweeps away, her splendid gown trailing behind her.
To balance the white ground of winter, I give you flamboyant skies. To balance your days full of motion, I give you restful, star-spangled nights.
I compensate your deserts with deep, rolling seas. I paint your mundane realities with dreams.
In the midst of your loneliness, I offer you compassion. In the midst of confusion, I offer you my laws.
To compensate your limitations, I give you eternity and an infinite world. To anchor you in the midst of it, I give you my endless love.
Within the still winter, the dream seeds sleep, sparks of possibilities slow-dancing beneath snow. The hushed tune of Mystery whispers the steps as they glide, directing them.
Just on the other side of time, the tomorrows stand waiting, lined in a row. One by one, the Mystery will call them. And each will dawn on cue and lend its light to the dancing dreams and grow them.
All this goes on beyond our knowing. But within us all, dreams slow-dance, too, growing with each tomorrow. “Wait and see,” Mystery softly sings. “Wait and see.”