A story was told by the Elders,
A man with a vision of colors,
His Spirit pure creation, his heart was meditation,
to the beauty of all that is.
In his calling to paint the sky, he knelt with the rivers and mountainside;
He sat with the trees, the stones and the breeze – as it called his name.
He felt the colors stretch across the plains, he could hear the colors that beat with the rain.
His hands poured his Soul on the canvas of being.
His breath was liquid, his eyes were diamonds,
He told stories with his eisel.
In the vast horizon came the Vision of sublime
Filling his heart with such prisms divine.
His fingers became lava as he caressed her mind.
Fire scorched the seekers who looked with their eyes.
Behold the masterpiece of Eternal life.
She watched him in stillness come alive.
The dreamer was the sun, as he painted the sky.