I. As the silhouettes of the meek, gently sloping hills were birthed when the sun had stemmed from the depths of what could have only been pandora’s box, their outlines merged across the pure sky whose whimsical blue had been weathered and eventually dismantled by the emergence of sunbeams that had claimed for the air a new color, a mesmerizing, sizzling yellow that had foreshadowed next the arrival of the king that was the sun, and it had floated up in a divine levitation to address its kingdom that was Earth. All the while, the stunted pinnacles of each hill were blurred and molded this way and that as the light beams were indecisive artists.
Beneath the ascending sun, this horizon seemed to quiver and pulsate in expectant anticipation of some sudden release of eccentric exhilaration that would strike the atmosphere with no less subtlety than a strong puncture being administered quickly into a delicate shard of glass, inducing intense fractures that would cleave the glass into a myriad of fragments. But no such abruption of energy was to seize or manipulate any fraction of the cloudless sky. Though lacking such a rapidly bestown dosage of surging enthrallment, the abyss of pastel blue blotched by vibrant yellow that consumed, with the hunger of a fervent wildfire, every particle not somehow bonded with the earth, invaded one’s senses and rejuvenated them in some ritual of rebirthing that does inevitably capture one upon the obtaining of the satisfaction that accompanies the embracing of a final decision, the decision to dismiss the temptation of sleep and, with great courage and determination and optimism, to immerse one’s self utterly into the rhythm of reality and the melody of familiarity, its unrelenting but often consoling consistency as durable and soothing as the certainty that another wave will always collapse upon and be dissolved into oblivion by the ocean’s shore, forever and without any hesitation from which the ignition of doubtfulness could originate.
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