Mist was rolling in, moving from the sea to the land. Moisture-formed drops began refracting late afternoon sunlight; droplets like water-diamonds brooding on the grass, rock, and shrub.
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Alone today, she sat gazing out to sea, where – as the moisture moved around and beyond her, past ramshackle cottages, and broken fences, past apathy and neglect, past unplowed fields, past weed choked gardens and barren trees, past the withered lives of jaded dreamers and grief-stricken hearts – she envisioned her soon-coming love rejoicing.
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And how she longed for His arrival. For in her life - time after time - she’d known the creak of rusted hinges, forlorn cries echoing across the fields, brooding figures shambling trodden paths, the shouts of reprobates, and in the callous hearts of the masses, only bundles of dry sticks.
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And yet…
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Though her aching to feel more was bombarded daily by endless minatory impels - an ever-changing landscape, abject evil, and the cold-heartedness of so many - it was an unwavering devotion to her first love that exceeded her fear of being swept away. In her heart, she joyfully foresaw His glorious approach; an imminent nearness, when her Beloved would sweep her off her feet, and fulfill her every longing.
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“Come quickly my love,” She whispered.
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© richard lloyd cederberg
First written 2015. Rewritten 5/2023
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“Sorrow is knowledge. Those that know the most must mourn the deepest. The tree of knowledge is not the tree of life.”

        A NEW RACE OF HuMANS