Of it all

A morning filled with flashes of light from the sky. A morning filled with thunder and sleet. Now the sun is out and sharing the heavens with delicate snowfall. The shape of darkness soon to follow.
Well this winter day just really has it all.
New York City sung a similar way.
San Miguel de Allende. Perhaps a big blue and reflecting bay.
Sing of it all.
There are are those fortunate enough to catch the magic of it all, roll it in a ball, and coldy let it fall before they wash their hands.
Cry for them for it is they who embraced that magic until dancing the fantastically wild and madlove nature of it all. There is no real control. Only imagined.
The ripcord is ripped while only having seen the beginning of it all. Bailing out only to land. Only to land with their head in the sand. The passion of passions abandoned.
And that is the very sad truth of it all.
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