Reflections on three forms.The tireless, all-powerful waves of water carving swathes through history. All is borne before. Cascading from on high to fill us, we tremble at the lion's roar. A whirlpool current in time.
The ice. A form made solid, cracking open the very rocks, and yet smoothing gouged surfaces beneath until all flows as one. Silently. Majestically. Melting our hearts with pure crystal waters. Borne through centuries to us still.
The mist. Penetrating deep within, yet coating all that surrounds. We see the bride's floating veil, borne white to fresh christening robes then cold to the ground in frosty shrouds. The mist reveals.
And so is Iceland. Gazing on the Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost.
No comments:
Post a Comment