Mirth

The ancients saw color, heard music, learned books, praised gods, made love. Whatever changed, except the height of the tower holding us above the forest’s floor and canopy? All stood and fell as all shall. Our proud species claimed mastery of heaven as it wishes. Beauty was created, changed, broken. Art was sought, kept, dirtied. God was found, worshipped, lost. The drop of dew is the old analogy, the ocean for the grain of sand — a huge and tiny beach gazing at the dark wine of the blue ocean, drunk on the heat of the beating sun.