Prolog
This image of the village as it looks
today is best viewed in a tranquil mood,
each leaf the eye takes in translucent
soaking in the sun, foreshadowing
changing shapes to come.
Before the white of winter
blossoms, summer like a gilt angel
on a gabled roof paints the air
orange into gold, striking the water
through which we glimpse
the atmosphere
of our own reflection.
A tremulation in the ordered air.
The swan rises. The dove descends.
Tongues are loose.
Old songs made new again
as ground slips from under
Heaven's Gate and shadows
obscure the light.
Scott Malby
Posted over on Hawkwind Creations
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