Quick! Look at the morning glow upon the oak and pine trees out the window! A cadmium yellow softens into white gold. What is white gold? It’s that which shimmers from the under painting of a sun rise as the day sings on, each moment having its own special assignment. Hurry! You don’t want to miss the show out your window. A window washed so clean with tears, one can see clearly as if for the first time. It’s Spring and e.e. cummings bids you into its muddy realm with his words, “…the sweet, small, clumsy feet of April came into the ragged meadow of my soul.” Furthermore, make haste, get up, and open the windows of your darkened winter mind, rake away the debris and let in the gleaming white gold splashing in from the soul’s sanctuary; that sacred cave of the heart, eternal, always there, like angel wings…
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