Thomas Kinkade Hometown Pride

Thomas Kinkade Hometown PrideThomas Kinkade HOMETOWN EVENINGThomas Kinkade HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS
light three hundred million years, but Death travels inside that space where Time has no meaning. Light thinks it travels And landed.
He dismounted, and stood in the silence. Then he went down on one knee.
Change the perspective. The furrowed landscape falls away into immense distances, curves at the edges, becomes a fingertip. Azrael raised his finger to a face that filled the sky, lit by the faint glow of dying galaxies.
There are a billion Deaths, but they are all aspects of
faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it.There was company on the ride - galaxies, stars, ribbons of shining matter, streaming and eventually spiralling towards the distant goal. Death on his pale horse moved down the darkness like a bubble on a river.And every river flows somewhere.And then, below, a plain. Distance was as meaningless here as time. but there was a sense of hugeness. The plain could have been a mile away, or a million miles; it was marked by long valleys or rills which flowed away to either side as he got closer.