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The marveler

May 6, 2017

The marveler stood in a field of glass flowers, each one bobbing its head in the van Gogh wind and singing with a crystal clear voice a tune unknown to any but the flower itself. It was a wonder to behold, but the marveler barely noticed.

He stood very still, eyes closed and face slightly lifted. To any who might have noticed (although no one did) he probably looked to be enjoying the afternoon sun. But just as with the chimes of the flowers, he was unaware of the delicious light and warmth pouring down from the sky. His feet were planted on the earth, but the rest of him was long gone, having slipped into a realm of which few even dream.

Only he could see the crowd around him that pressed and danced, moving to some ancient choreography far too complicated for his marveling little brain. He heard their voices and felt their breath. He knew that some stayed close, leaping and twirling around him, making the air smile with their exuberance. Some swiftly moved past him, paying him no mind. He reciprocated. He also felt the dark dancers, their pressing shadows bringing shivers as they wove and slipped around him, their voices both enchanting and repulsive.

With his eyes closed the marveler beheld the agony and the glory of war, invisible wounds that hemorrhaged incessantly. He tasted a grief that no earthbound soul would ever understand, and he knew that when later asked the reason for his tears, he would have no reasonable explanation to offer those who can only see when their eyes are open.

 

 

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2 Comments leave one →
  1. May 6, 2017 11:06 am

    Wow. Lisa, your word pictures are captivating and profound. Beautiful and insightful!

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