Beyond Chaos

Waking

Happy emerging blue skies to you and farewell grim winter drear.  Change can be gradual.  I am apt to forget the fact. Incremental happiness happens, like daffodils in spring unfold.  My frontal lobe, a dream machine.  Intuition and reason, mother and father of realistic optimism.  I will squirrel away, fox the odds, frog march my path and crow my exhultant joy.  I will be owl speech simple and monkey evil blind. A wolf howls,  I stop to listen and hear the lowing of a cow which reminds me of the children in the other world, who live in light, growing and golden. They observe without judgement. I feel my spine straighten as I raise myself in defiance of the dark companion behind me, to the left, west, if I'm facing north, which I am.  To my right I feel the cooler temperature of the unknown as a wounded magic floats free, like a balloon on a summers morning, bobbing towards the blue beyond. My child heart knocking on the door of my ever hopeful mind, opening to where all the hours and days of my dreaming  now welcome me into a place that is the shape of me. I cast a glance over my shoulder and see that there is nowhere I should not have been. When I face forward, I see the black crow playing saxophone. I stop to feel the music in my hips, a swaying, serpentine undulation entwines my spine. I make space for the dancing flowers that emerge full grown from the fertile earth. A goat, ruminating by a gate post, considers the delicacy of a dog rose bouquet. In the moment that follows I find myself there, with his hooves on my breast, marveling at how gently he has made me his, leaning on me, neck stretched over my shouder to nibble the lofty wild roses. I wonder what colours coalesce to make the sky uniquely today its own. Beside me, in the undergrowth variagated, the ivy veined a shade of fruity red for which I have no name.  An amber hue leaps out from the distant mountains, a brief encounter, like the scent of honeysuckle on a summer evening, fleetfoot flickering sprites of nature.