Picture31

32 - Cloud Etchings

The smell of the green moss

rides on your flute notes

reaching the core of our senses.

If we really get there

I don't need to write anything

You don't need to play anything.

There:

We soar on the wings of our dreams

To etch our path on the golden clouds

Into the inner journey that leads us to our source

February 16, 2001

to Kevin - Behzad

 

Done