He labored and worked with downcast eyes focused on tasks at hand. To and from the shop, he walked addressing small improvements and issues with auger on first day of harvest. Back and forth, eyes to earth, he walked and worked in blind until absent intention or meaning of search, he raised his eyes to the sky and was struck by celestial and cerulean sight—dream-sky of watercolor clouds of depth and dimension in dream-cast pattern that glowed in the energy of sun.
He looked on the light. He gazed on the sign, affected in its witness. His workout was his labor—back and forth, hour on hour, beginning when grain was right and ending when evening humidity gave moisture to the heads and toughness to stalks’ cut. Until then, back and forth he would walk in slow and steady labor.
But for a time, moment of witness and rest, he stared on the dream-sky, quiet and still on contemplation of inner movement.
“Nothing changes if nothing changes.”
Sky had changed before his eyes: from common blue, light and vestige of vision-dream.
“Nothing changes if nothing changes.”
Sky had changed. Why shouldn’t he?
He moved different, eyes and spirit upward—in focus on the Light—even when sky retracted widow to the vision.
He moved different.
Sky had changed. Why shouldn’t he?