In This time Of Stillness.
In this time of stillness, when thoughts slumber,no wind stirs the dormant passionbeyond the threshold of flame.Dreams are waived,and hopes congeal like blood at the knife's cut.Hands are drawn in as tight as despair,and the languid mind rebels against decision. When winter falls upon the well spring of thought,it freezes even the wildest streams of purpose,and locks in ice those lucid visions,that once were signposts on a pathway to somewhere. Yet when the sun's heat wrenches even the frost's grip,and fallen eyes rise once more above the dark,it will grow without compulsion,for every seed must sprout and thrust its roots deepthrough rock to fertile earth. Easy then to turn back when the road rises,when the goal seems too distant and dubious in its worth.It is then that the true gather to the quick,Like that self same seed that first touches the long fallowed ground.We may use this time of stillnessto build strong shelters for the coming storms.