‘Come with me to the end,’ she said.
‘I know of a place
Where the wind tastes of cinnamon
Rivers flow cold and pure
Through meadows of gold
At night clouds depart
And stars fall like snow
Upon the mountaintops.
Time cannot touch us there.’

I listened to her
And fell more madly in love.
We could not know
The end lay not in golden meadows
Or on mountainsides
Sprinkled with stardust.
Far from the cinnamon winds
On a sea of sadness
It came when the veil was lifted
And a place in the beyond
Beckoned to her

Original Photography – Instagram @mitchel_ring