It's a song tinged with sorrow
a sparrow in the cold, grey snow
a gentle rain that remembers when the world was young,
before the apple and the snake.
The thunder in a horse's feet
a flower in the twilight
the sense of regret in a colorless photograph, the faces without names
Is it our own mortality that can make these things so tragically beautiful, or is it a glimpse of longing for a world we were made for but have never known?
inspired by Hannah's post, here