come respira l'aria

[99andromeda99]

When the pilgrim hadst reached the borders of the thicket, he asked no more. The air was laden with damp and ancient stillness. The moss, witness to unnumbered supplications, knoweth more prayers than we.

There was neither word nor token. Naught but shadow. And the shadow was not sin, but the dwelling of the Lord.

And it came to pass that, at the edge of the last clearing, the Heavens did descend without utterance.

And I beheld Him — amidst the ferns — and He spake not unto me.

[99andromeda99]

[99andromeda99]