Where Shadows Fall

The joy of a quiet time.

In a gallery, moving alone,

Staring silently at where shadows fall.

While those around also follow their taste,

Taking in the work of others; choosing where to dwell.

Admiring those with palette and brush;

Those strangers that have mixed beads of oil into colours, light and dark.

These great masters creating beauty and form.

Renaissance art, still aging.

This visitor, concentrating on rural scenes, often lacking figures.

Looking beyond, at what nature offers.

A blur of ancient mist, odd patches of half-hidden sky, an unexpected wisp of smoke.

And yet, with the occasional ornateness of a frame catching the eye.

Such distractions being fleeting reminders of times passed,

With this great gathering of revered masterpieces.

A merger of the material and the aesthetic.

All somehow verging on the spiritual.

Ah! The pure joy of it.

Staring silently at where shadows fall.

13 thoughts on “Where Shadows Fall”

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