Sweet Rest
I rest on the top branches of a tree in the valley; my world is the cool air of emptiness before me. Where else is my spirit but above all that's created, for the one eye of my mind and heart is not there.
Yet the sky is not empty, it's a canvas to paint on; I look out with the golden eyes of my grandfather's spirit. How can I grieve him who now has captured the wind, fanning the outburst of a dying Sun-God in glory?
And when I should join him, I know I'll be ready; my whole life as a falcon like a sweet rest on his wings. Where else shall I seek God but flying beside him, with my young spirit wedded to the eternity he knows?