Vibrant Horizons

There are many vibrant views of wondrous horizons around the globe, both real and imaginary; but I shall focus on some at the ranch in SW Texas which are most dear to me. It was in this vicinity that I got my start and was molded into the person I am during all my summers growing up there and absorbing its vastness .

I named it "The Flying Dutchman" in honor of Dad, whose nickname that was, given him by Mother, because of his German-Dutch-Swiss lineage and active, robust on-the-go character.

There's also a 'soft spot' for the Wagnerian opera by that name, with several features named accordingly, such as "Senta's Leap". The hapless captain of the ghost ship, is condemned to roam the seas forever until he is truly beloved by someone. Senta loves him, and proves it by flinging herself off a sharp cliff into the raging sea.

The ranch has just such a cliff overlooking a deep dry Outlaw Canyon carved by an ancient sea. Imagine a ghostly ship being thrown about among its crags!

But, that's another story. . . .

Now ~ some vibrant vistas, mystic music, sweeping moods, pensive poetry ~ inspired by the panorama.

The ridge of distant peaks

Chews up, spits out

That resplendent,

Reshaped horizontal line,

Sumptuous and sublime.

They redefine

The view;

All old,

All new,

All ways ~

It's mine.

〰©Nellieanna H. Hay

A shadowy path winds

Through dreamy purple shadows;

Leads on toward blue-purple sky

Hovering o'er an undulating line

Of purple mountains, -

Distant, serpentine,

On Earth's edge, ready to engage

A mystery, fantasy,

A blanket enclosing that horizon

In subtle scents of tender lavender

And heady sage.

〰©Nellieanna H. Hay

9-1-13

Each moment presents

Its own surpassing horizon:

Quiet and placid

Or boisterous and vivid;

Caressing or disturbing,

Soothing or cajoling;

Changing with the hour,

Altering with the season.

Rejecting, clinging;

Keeping, holding;

Coddling, scolding;

Shattering, bringing

Its own reason;

Ever ushering in another

And another, -

Each soaked in light,

Stoked with power.

〰©Nellieanna H. Hay

9-1-13

Perspective line-on-line, -

Melting into nothingness,

A common touch.

Somewhere else,

Rows of buildings outline

A steamy street or rocky ocean wall,

Then diminish from the near to far,

From large to small

From here to there

And vanish into unseen distance

Without a trace,

Into - - that same vast somewhere, -

Ever-receding

Always proceeding

Curvature of Earth

Which we mere mortals call 'horizon'.

Is it illusion?

Is there such?

Or is there only our own limitation,

A mere intimation

Of what is real,

Observed from our small place?

〰©Nellieanna H. Hay

9-2-13

Shall I reveal

All I feel?

That the light in your eyes, my love,

In precious memory ~

Is another kind of horizon that I see.

Each beloved horizon ~

More vibrant,

More dear,

More beloved,

More inviting,

More real

Than any other on this Earth

To me!

〰©Nellieanna H. Hay

9-2-13