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Slow horizon
A poem
Article voiceover
Slow horizon
A winter haze holding a slow horizon, me through the air at speeds unfathomable just a century ago yet speed does not bring clarity, a low winter sun piercing the haze in a rainbow of whites, eyes thrown down to steppingstones, emblazoned coins of water and a snaking river of fire, a smoldering path the mind detests in its desire for clear, straight lines, but the soul celebrates around every bright bend and in each dark chasm and toward any obscured horizon.
Thank you for reading! What strikes you, speaks to you, or stirs in you while you read this piece? I look forward to whatever dialogue happens here, and as always, I will be following up with a Reflection essay on how this poem emerged into being.
Brian
“but the soul celebrates around every bright bend and in each dark chasm”
This is a great line, and brings out the contrast nicely between the mind and soul.
The soul doesn’t want to rush like the mind.
“Haze” nice word for: life’s unknowns
Yes, "rainbow of whites" and also "coins of water and a snaking river of fire".
Lovely imagery, Brian. I imagine flying through the sky and looking out the window of a plane and seeing all of this.