I never thought of death when I was young,
And even then, without my knowing it,
Saw the world with a poet’s eye.
Even then the muse and the sylvan sprite were my companions,
And the clouds though which I dreamed,
The fields and meadows through which I walked,
And the forest that held my secret places,
Showed me a world beyond the world
That disguised itself as the reality
From which only my dreaming could save me.
Dragon’s teeth glow through the morning mists
in the rising of the sun, and
Through the vale the river winds.
A breath of mystery hovers, scented,
and as the mists burn away,
the trees begin to dance of their timelessness,
and to whisper of things to come,
and in the crystal light shining,
the dragon’s treasure sparkles.
Why wasn’t I a pilot,
Or a traveller like I thought I would,
Or a studio artist as I had hoped.
I would have seen my masterpieces by now.
What about a travel writer, or a spy,
Or an interpreter for the United Nations.
Languages intrigued me, Spanish, French,
And oddly enough, German.
Italian intrigues me now.
I did my part in the French Resistance.
That was another life.
Why is my masterwork as yet undone.
Why wasn’t I a bird.
Maybe next time.
At yesterday’s evening, the sun,
Deep and glowing pink,
Painted across the sky.
Suddenly the world changed
And went beyond itself,
And the heavens became visible.
In pungent depths
The gentle movement of truth sounds,
And images of timeless words
In endless moments bloom . . .
There was a time like that,
When life roared heavy
In my ears, and
Everything came unstuck.
The stars glittered
And clanged together, and
Something new came of
The earth shook and
Just for that awesome moment.
If it is true that every single moment
Holds endless possibility,
And every life is its own story
In which each moment leads
Naturally to the next,
How is the leap made to
Another of those possibilities
In a single moment, that
Alters the story intentionally and forever,
That suddenly adds newness,
Purpose, depth, and excitement,
A touch of the exotic perhaps,
How is the great leap made
From this moment to the dream,
The only leap worth making.
Mercury is in retrograde, which often causes thinking backward. It is cold and it is winter, and during hibernation, the mind works in mysterious ways.
How many Thursdays have I been here.
Number of years x 52, add leap year Thursdays, minus days to this years birthday, and minus 1 since I was born on Friday and missed Thursday that week.
That’s a lot of Thursdays.
Winter Fields, Oil on Canvas, 1989