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When light goes down and darkness rises
And naught is left save breath and shadow
And the chill caressing sigh of wind;
When moonlight covers all in hoary grey
And blunts the edges of day-time shades
Dissolving blues and reds to silver-white;
When the world tilts and heaves and shudders
And the sky fills with an electrical promise
And the air is thick enough to wrap around you like a fleece;
When beasts bay and eyes blaze in the distance
And silhouettes seem to melt out of every pool of night -
When fright beats a staccato cadence in your blood
Yet curiosity drives you to deeper into the dusky shade -
When the twisting of the paths make your feet lose their way
And yet even in your terror you find a great beauty in the fear -
You will know then that Great Pan is not dead,
He but only waits for you in the wildest places of your mind.
I really hate being cold
(No, you don’t understand…. I REALLY hate being cold. I really, really hate it.)
And tonight it was freezing outside
And I was standing on my balcony in a t-shirt, drinking a whisky and coke.
(Shut up, I had good reason. And I had a blanket wrapped around me at least; and I even had slippers on.)
But the cold is not what’s important, what’s important was the wind chimes.
The sound of the city at 3 a.m. (that almost subsonic, collective roar/buzz) and the sound of silence (rare and fleeting, but thankfully still occasionally possible where we live) mixed with the sounds of the wind (the low howls between buildings and the high pitched whines where it screeches through the trees).
They were all just backing vocals for the wind chimes.
The wind chimes on my balcony didn’t budge.
It was the sound of some random ones, in an unseen neighbourhood backyard, unheard ever before tonight that was what was important; that was what kept me rooted out there in the cold, happily enthralled and happily transfixed.
The sound was way more intoxicating than the drink I held in my hands could ever be.
I had to stay to listen to it, I had no choice.
Random bursts of wind randomly hitting randomly placed pieces of metal. The song could never have been pre-ordained, and yet… there was…. a symmetry to the sound, a patternless pattern, one that prodded at a deeper part of my brain.
And I was reminded then, that even Chaos itself, can only seek to express itself through the beauty of this creation.
My website has been redone http://whiteravencreations.ca/
With a blog and everything http://whiteravencreations.blogspot.ca/
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