Picture couldn’t capture all—details of the sky: amber underbellies of undulant clouds, violet in their folds and space between, slow shift and rearranging, living canvas that was God’s; one which from beginning man has always witnessed but failed to notice now as often as before. The beauty was always there, on days and eves such as this; thinning of the autumn leaves, limb shadows in the foreground, horizon silhouette in far. A picture is worth a thousand words—sometimes. And sometimes, words paint more true: spirit filling in what lens cannot.
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Sky cooled and transfigured onward, amber collecting in pool low beneath the clouds, undersides changed salmon and softer pastel pink, tempered without salmon’s flame, violet shadows deepening; and though one could not see, it was known, behind, stars awaited should they be given chance to shine.
He let the book lie, Heaven moment portending to pivotal crux of the grand and beautiful romance.
And the lesson in the end: Love wins.
Love wins. What more is needed known. The trails, the tribulations, the hardships and despair: they are all conditioning for the moment of revelation—GOD; appearing, known, and true—that happens in moments such as then when all the doubt is given answer, atonement and peace, in moment of touch and glory.
Cigar burned low, but spirit was just beginning.
Love wins, always, in the end.