Sunday, 26 August 2012

A Measure of Comfort

The drip was constant, a metronome measuring out time.
Bleary eyed, spirit bruised from another all-night argument 
She had sought solace in the forest and the rain. 

Perched on a rock, surrounded by the dichotomy of nature - Stability and chaos 
Indiscriminate raindrops creating the rhythmic beading of water
She reflected upon her own duality

The steady beat of water had etched a small rivulet 
Upon which a poplar seed was now travelling
On a journey to create new life in a barren place.

She wondered if all "constants" do the same
Create paths that can be used for the good

The thought brought with it a measure of comfort.

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