I've landed myself in the belfry of my musings, and as each thought is concocted and crowned, the expanse of tolls pour forth as the burgeoning town at twilight. The rooftops are infused in ebbing afterlight and the radiant warmth of stored day, wherein the carillon of bells rolls forth from the spire, and reverberates on chords captive to human hearts. This repose is cast on dwindling days, and is as the draping of quantified quandaries realized.

Beauty has declared itself in variant shades of mellow, and each observation recalled is as blushing rouge dipped in dark cherry. Basslines have blended and become as brassy inlay on this evening scape of earth and fruit. My eyes blink merlot, and the warmth of this hue coupled with creations cap on the months of its maturation.


With words as filigree, and images as fabric, could you tell me reader, what lesson is intimated here to us?