Tract Number Brown Book:3

Here goes...

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The light is dimming and the wind is picking up.   What the day holds is unclear.   Silence surrounds me, unusual, strange.   The writing is before me, but evades my vision.   A voice sounds, seeming near, but without meaning.   Simply to speak those words drives a greater thought.  The light, the wind, pushing into the deep recesses of my thought, unfolding a deeper light, illumination of profound inner contemplation.  The significance is provoking.   If the stars in their courses mark the manner of man, the sun in its splendour counts the days.   Yet the cup is nearly empty.   All that the day holds appears bleak.   Yet the birds sing and though battered by the wind diligently follow their nature.   And the platform of a thousand stars shows the way.   This is the way.   That sudden darkness is followed by a sudden light.   Stillness brings darkness, movement light.   Through inaction the aching cold remains.   Action delivers the soothing warmth that pushes the body into further action.   More voices, the day springs into life.   A clock chimes to show the way, leading us out of the timeless dark.  A dim light is here and the stillness and bleakness may not be so.

So this is about writing, voices, names.   There is a theme of light illuminating things and, emerging here, the idea of a path or way and action that must be taken.   I'm also interested in a clock chiming to show the way - are we talking about a specific time being eluded to?   And the very lyrical but probably metaphoric " If the stars in their courses mark the manner of man, the sun in its splendour counts the days".