A current streaks its way through the wooded glen, racing the clouds across the horizon.
Flicker of light through limb and leaf, lend an air of drug fed time passages.
Time, she truly flies, against the starling wing, diving toward her prey.
Winding through the day, the current meets the sun in a westward sky
as if to celebrate the race that neither won.
Joy, she meets you where you choose.
A darkened corner, beneath a blanket with a history all its own, behind the pages of a book,
well worn, read at lifes vermilion intervals.
Hope against time, a dashed wager, vagrant wish, worthy as the promises made
by forefathers and knights of yore.
Time and hope and joy, elusive and intangible.
Never cease the striving to qualify the magnitude of what they bring the lonely soul.