An Observation

Just past 5 o'clock, the sky is a pulsating heart. The clouds are exhaust pouring from the pipes of the heavens. All is silent except for the gentle feedback sounds of nature; they drone on with a thick reverb as if in some cosmic church hall. The grass is green, and it shines with the light of a million miniature suns: stars on the sky of the land. Rolling hills emulate the ocean, as they wash by and over the horizon. Along the hills are freeze-frame explosions of green; every branch of every tree a stream of light in the pattern of a firework. Inside my vessel I realize I am not seeing these things for what they really are; rather I am seeing a series of pictures that my mind is dreaming up, filtered through the glass window and the lens of my eye. If I could reach out and touch these things now I would be sure they felt soft like a blanket, but in reality I know that some of them are quite rough. If only I could train my mind to make these things feel as they look right now. If only I could feel the gentle thumping of nature's heart.