"When earth's last picture is painted, and the tubes are twisted and dried, When the oldest colors have faded, and youngest critic has died, We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it --lie down for an aeon or two. Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall set us to work anew..." ~Rudyard Kipling~
The chill winter pall is being chased away by a warm steady rain. The lingering shower is scouring earth's mouldering urn and preparing it for the life to come. Soon, the sun warmed soil will receive a synchrony of bouquets.
Spring shall dawn on the night of the winter grave. Surely, the closing aria of Strauss' Die Frau ohne Schatten is waiting in the wing.
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L'envoi
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2/10/2007 09:40:00 PM Permalink
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Labels: The Seasons
The LORD shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.
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