THE QUIET VALLEY

    © 2005 All rights reserved By: Joyce Rapier

     Travel with me down the pebbled path, through tulips, daffodils and aromatic mountain laurel. Their secrets harbor more than lovely eye catching beauty; they tell of footsteps winding toward a hidden treasure trove. Pine needles lay in quiet repose, woven like Grandma's patchwork quilt; neatly sewn with fine stitches exposing nature's handiwork.

     Moss laden rocks jut from the earth, moist and glistening from morning dew. A whiff of musky soil tells the tale of dormant leaves hiding from many years' gatherings. Beneath the shade of Oak trees sprout tiny purple violets, smiling with faces of yellow beckoning a closer look. A wayward frog in search of a cool spring leaps with anticipation in its quest for a mate.

      Beyond the veil of entwining vines, arched gracefully as a troupe of ballet dancers performing to the Nutcracker, lies a quiet valley. A mere trickle of water fades into the silence—silence of time—so golden it tweaks the soul into exciting imagination.

     Gazing into the hidden glen, past the high limestone crutches, a magnificent horizon lunges forward. The grandeur speaks volumes surrounding the mind with picturesque visions. There, alone in the solitude of magnificent beauty, sits a lonely straight backed chair. Chipped paint, exposing bare wood, etches its willingness to accept a wayward soul in search of meaningful oneness.

     Sitting upon the antique chair, I ponder and also dare to dream of learning more to share. Profoundly beautiful, my favorite nook is there…it's my imagination.