Thursday, 29 March 2012

Ripples In The Lake of Time

What peace the lake brings. The hot, gold, sun, already looks drowsy in the blueness of the morning. The concerns Sven Radio holds for the World seems to have slunk into a corner and fallen asleep. Old friends seem to be all around; a skylark is floating and climbing steep above me. The ground mist sprawls in the bottom of the valley. I stand at the gate breathing in the silence of the forest. The old periods of dark agony have gone forever. The black despair has given way to calm acceptance. I listen to the ripples splashing on the edges of the lake. Time is precious, and time brings all things to my mind. I have visions of things that have been - the room where our son was born; a morning like this when we together walked before breakfast by a stream, with hands full of bluebells... Sven

Bluebell Morning

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