
On days like this, the clouds probably absorbed the sounds from the surface of the earth. And not just sounds. All kinds of things. Perceptions, for example.
From, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami, 1997
On days like this, the clouds probably absorbed the sounds from the surface of the earth. And not just sounds. All kinds of things. Perceptions, for example.
From, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami, 1997
with them,
i remember who i am
the years travel forward,
while friendships grow–
ever strong and tall
toward our future suns
I am the eagle, I live in high country
In rocky cathedrals that reach to the sky
I am the hawk and there’s blood on my feathers
But time is still turning they soon will be dry
And all of those who see me, all who believe in me
Share in the freedom I feel when I fly
Come dance with the west wind and touch on the mountain tops
Sail over the canyons and up to the stars
And reach for the heavens and hope for the future
And all that we can be and not what we are
from the song Eagle and the Hawk by John Denver, 1971
dream into a place of happiness
and love
and comfort,
and know that i’ll be waiting there for you
our eyes travel along the edges of your rolling hills,
across soft, emerald fields,
alongside small homesteads filled with golden,
straw-colored dreams and clear streams of enchanted river songs
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