Ponderosa pines rise high into the twilight sky.
Above, I behold, the story they told as night’s first stars emerge,
a tale of old, predating time.
In this sight I delight in creator’s might
and overflow with rejoice.
From brow to feet, heart quickening fleet, I release
bonds of preconception.
At last, I stand fast, look forward not past, and ask,
“What purpose Impending?
Purpose is life, without is to die, or live deprived
and forlorn at best.” | WP
Beautiful painting, thoughtful poem.