Today's weather in Atlanta sang of high country: remarkably clear, hot, and exceptionally dry. Such perfection is normally reserved for later in the endless Fall that is so characteristic of the Atlanta region. It reminded me of times in Montana and Colorado and many months spent living in and traveling the sacred high deserts of the Southwest. Tomorrow will bring some haze, but today is a harbinger of that spectacular season that is but a few weeks away.
I made a special effort to be outside today. The joy of it all wore me out and I am left to sink into a welcomed rest, cradled by the music of Eric Whitacre and lyrics from the pen of Charles Silvestri.
The evening hangs beneath the moon
A silver thread on darkened dune
With closing eyes and resting head
I know that sleep is coming soon
Upon my pillow safe in bed
A thousand pictures fill my head
I cannot sleep my minds aflight
And yet my limbs seem made of lead.
If there are noises in the night
A frightening shadow, fleeting light
Then I surrender unto sleep.
Where clouds of dreams give second sight
What dreams may come both dark and deep
Of flying wings and soaring leap
As I surrender unto sleep
As I surrender unto sleep
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