In time the colors fade, but new ones scratch their way up. Deep oak and pine wilt to swampsbeard and marshmouth, as the earth takes another of her cards back.
The grass grows without allegiance to color or jersey, it does what it does where it will. Speckled greens dot entire fields, parcel changing roots and shades come each new rain.
The sun brings out the best of them, weaving Irish gold into the moss and meadows who find themselves under the bright gaze of their deity.
Light and distance mix their paints. The blue of faraway hills remember their forestry with flecks of sunlight upon them. Lone rooks and pillars return to copses of trees. In clouds, the oceans retake them all and cast back an azure wave upon the horizon.
A train is more than motion and movement, if you give its inner stillness a home.
The grass grows without allegiance to color or jersey, it does what it does where it will. Speckled greens dot entire fields, parcel changing roots and shades come each new rain.
The sun brings out the best of them, weaving Irish gold into the moss and meadows who find themselves under the bright gaze of their deity.
Light and distance mix their paints. The blue of faraway hills remember their forestry with flecks of sunlight upon them. Lone rooks and pillars return to copses of trees. In clouds, the oceans retake them all and cast back an azure wave upon the horizon.
A train is more than motion and movement, if you give its inner stillness a home.