Heavy Blizzards Start As A Gentle And

The Treasures Of The Earth Were Movement, Courage, Laughter And Love.

All Rivers Run Full To The Sea; Those Who Are Apart Are Brought Together; The Lost Ones Are Redeemed; The Dead Come Back To Life; The Perfectly Blue Days That Have Begun And Ended In Golden Dimness Continue, Immobile And Accessible; And, When All Is Perceived In Such A Way As To Obviate Time, Justice Becomes Apparent Not As Something That Will Be, But Something That Is.

We Launch Our Souls From The Cannons Of Art And Discipline, And On Any One Night, Hovering Over The Chimney Tops Of Europe, Halfway To The Stars, There Are Armies Of Brightly Spinning Spirits That Have Risen Like Fireworks, Tethered To The Souls Of Those Men And Women Who, By Reflection, Mortification, And Devotion, Effortlessly Outdazzle Kings.

As The Clockwork Of The Millennia Moved A Notch In Front Of Their Eyes, It Had Taken Their Thoughts From Small Things And Reminded Them Of How Vulnerable They Were To Time.

Well-timed Silence Is The Most Commanding Expression.