Sometimes you wake up, and theirs nothing one can do, but grin and bear it, let the mind drift, expand, relax, wait..... this morning, feeling the flame of indecision, it must be the grass..... ahthe tangle of tendrils and doliage, why does our world have to be so splintered. Behind us a riot of protection, in the afternoon the sky is falling.
Upon the mountain's edge with light touch resting,
There a brief while the globe ofsplendour sits
And seems a creature of the earth, but soon
More changeful than the moon,
To wane fantastic his great orb submits,
Or cone or mow of fire: till sinking slowly
Even to a star at length he lessens wholly.
Abrupt, as Spirits vanish, he is sunk!
A soul-like breeze possesses all the wood.
The boughs, the sprays have stood
As motionless as stands the ancient trunk!
But every leaf through all the forest flutters
And deep the cavern of the fountain mutters.
Sunset - JMW Turner