At evening shade, she walked amongst light and contemplations. Morning’s gray and wind-driven front of cold blew on into a sky of cerulean clear.
She thought of dreams. She thought of stories. Were there meanings in them both?
She wondered.
She thought of life and the rare sometimes moments one suspects and believes heart and spirit beckoned and engaged by a Something of Beyond.
Benign. Good. Love in perception of essence, like spectral light of low falling autumn sun.
Both touched upon her then, a magic of evening shade when child believes that anything can be.
In silence of communing soul, she spoke with sky. She spoke to the blue. She spoke to the spectral light; spirit holding open to the wonder, to the mystery, to hope and belief in the Benign, in the Beautiful, in beckon for Love-Perceived as purity of essence.
What she would call it, she didn’t know; but it was something near to prayer; heart becoming levitous as light in wind-cast dance, a magic belonging to dreams and evening shade.