non serviam: musings of love, language, living, and rebellion

the hour of vespers

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Yesterday I felt the texture of the air beginning to change. In the hour of vespers, I was given tranquility again signaling the coming moment when light is swallowed back into the womb of darkness; when sound returns to the bosom of silence. The music is changing as instruments of wind and string summon the crescendo of the moon. Soon, it will be time to harvest the fruits of intimacy from beneath hir dress of loosely sewn smoldering blossoms.

“Autumn is [the] Spring when every leaf is a flower.” ~Albert Camus~

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2 responses

  1. Pingback: Vespers | Lavender Turquois

  2. I like spring, but it is too young. I like summer, but it is too proud.
    So I like best of all autumn, because its leaves are
    a little yellow, its tones mellower, its colors richer, and it is tinged
    a little with sorrow. Its golden richness speaks not
    of the innocence of spring, nor of the power of summer, but
    of the mellowness and kindly wisdom of approaching age.
    It knows the limitations of life and is content.
    Lin Yutang

    22 November 2013 at 12:32 AM

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