The Day That Never Died


A spray of light is blown through the forest limbs, warming the frosted anchors that cling to the solid earth. Each a spire unto itself, each a symbol of its own existence, each a altar arising to bless what has been received. As life is the renewal of love, is the witness bearing the weight of these reflections and refractions. It is this, the great light that scatters into the darkness, to find itself resting peacefully in the morning affairs of waking, of waking to the yawning abyss of existance in a relationship between the breaths, of being and non-being.

– Josh Fleming

Image by: Kimmo Savolainen


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