This is the last year.
There will be no other,
but heartless nature
seemingly relents.
Never has a winter sun
spilled so much light,
never have so many flowers
dared such early bloom.
The air is brilliant, sharp.
Never have I taken
such long, long breaths.
I call the high and light aspects of my being SPIRIT and the dark and heavy aspects SOUL. Soul is at home in the deep, shaded valleys. Heavy torpid flowers saturated with black grow there.
The rivers flow like warm syrup. They empty into huge oceans of soul. Spirit is a land of high, white peaks and glittering jewel-like lakes and flowers.
Life is sparse and sounds travel great distances. There is soul music, soul food, and soul love.
People need to climb the mountain not simply because it is there, but because the soulful divinity needs to be mated with the spirit.