Excerpt from Flower of the Dusk

Behind the hills, the splendid tapestry glowed and ¿amed, sending far messages Of light to the grey East, where lay the sea, crooning itself to sleep. Bare boughs dripped rain upon the sodden earth, where the dead leaves had SO long been hidden by the snow. The thousand sounds and scents Of Spring at last had waked the world.

The man who stood near the edge Of the cliff, quite alone, and carefully feeling the ground before him with his came, had chosen to face the valley and dream Of the glory that, perchance, trailed down in living light from some vast loom Of God's. His massive head was thrown back, as though he listened, With a secret sense, for music denied to those who see.

He took Off his hat and stray gleams came through the deepening shadows to rest, like an aureole, upon his silvered hair. Remembered sunsets, from beyond the darkness Of more than twenty years, came back to him with divine beauty and diviner joy. Mnemosyne, that guardian angel Of the soul, brought from her treasure-house gifts Of laughter and tears, the laughter sweet With singing, and the bitterness Of the tears eternally lost in the Water of Forgetfulness.

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