The Land Of Evening

Land of Evening

=                                        When skies are pearly 

You can see it in Spring and early Summer, just a little before twilight, when the rich forget-me-not blue of the sky has paled to pearliness, tinted with a faded silver-blue like Athene’s eyes. Then the tops of the trees are dyed rich golden by the departing sun; then the horizon is a faint, tender peach colour, and the full moon comes out, a pale, fragile disk, half covered by whisps of pink cloud. Beyond that peach horizon, lies the Evening Land. It is a land of mist and dreams; a land you can neither see nor touch, only feel inside yourself – a land open to all who really want to go there. A land where there is no day, no night, only imagination and slow dreaminess – every moment is like a cloud floating by. It is part of a larger land – a larger experience, and everybody has their own way of getting there. For me, I  reach it by lying upon the grass, watching the Copper Beech branches wave above me, or I stand at the foot of the great tree, and my soul climbes it like a staircase – yes, the beech  is my bridge across – across whahat is for some an abyss – for others, nothing.


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