And full of wonder.
A star-filled sky glowed pink like fields of berries.
We gorged ourselves and stuffed our pockets,
Gulping sweet wine from the Horn of Plenty,
Tumbling into each other's arms for rest.
This morning, wind raced wildly through the trees,
Leaves turned upside down and branches broken.
Four horsemen hurtling toward an apocalypse,
Ripping up the past with their revelations,
Drowning out our moans and supplications.
July 31, 2015