The morning comes with her golden basket of light and in her right hand flows the wreath of beautiful clouds that hold the flood light, ushering the tempo of a new day.
Over the meadow flow the golden rays, through the trackless path deserted by the herds. Sprinkling the land with golden sparkle as the wind carries the whispers of peace. Far spreading is the infinite sky underneath which the lilies dance and the white ibis take flight toward the shallow waters.
Sunbeams flood through my window casting light and shadow on the wall. At the door entrance the most lively ray sit awaiting my exit. With joyful delight the light encompass my home as a mantle of numberless shade and form, filling the crevices with tints of gold.
The same stream of light that runs through the world and dances through cities and hamlets has settled at my door. As I step out to drink from the sunshine the rays bathe me in splendor elucidating the dark areas in my life. Filled with light bubbles the cells in my form are all awakened and called into the reviving morning.
Who paints the images on the infinite sky? With the brush- stroke touches the western sky with shades of azure and the eastern side with tints of crimson. Making the big things look small and the small things big. Without compunction in putting into the background that which was to the fore, or bringing to the front that which was behind.
We do not have enough leisure to view thoroughly this masterpiece above us. While the ever busy painter is with the brush creating lively formations that can usher us into the gates of paradise.
Riches spread endlessly before my eyes in the forms of woodland, river and sky. How rich I am when I look at such infinite wonders. The society in which I live reduces men into savants; but the freedom of the open sky when reconnected with breaks away this bondage.
Tamed birds are in cages, free birds are flying the skies. Tamed horses are in stables, free horses gallop in the open lands. Tamed dogs are subject to the whim of the master, free dogs roam from street to street in search of adventures.
As I gaze, my last glance fall on a row of free clouds with color of yellow and hue of red from the sinking sun. So this is what freedom looks like_ shining fiercely by day and becoming the tenderness of the twilight. A shadow is cast about the earth and time has come that I go to the river to fill my empty pitcher.
The evening breeze is filled with the sad notes of the twilight, calling me to listen to the final song of the day. As I walk the lonely lane where there are no passersby, the wind goes up and ripples are heard from the near waters. As I dip the pitcher into the water, happy ripples are heard murmuring indistinctly_ all things great and small are perfectly placed.