This sunshine

All I feel is
this warmth
this sunshine
streaming through the French Windows
this brightness
this lightness
of my heart.

Thoughts while flying back home from Singapore. Feb 2016.

Flying over the desserts and mountains of the world in the heat of the day brings the reality of our smallness but it also brings home how powerful we are. 

Above the cottony clusters of clouds there is perpetual summer. Up here in the stratosphere where the air is thin, the skies are always clear. There is no weather up here and it matters not whether the weather down there is wild and windy, or wet. Here you can see forever and the snow below lies peacefully pure and untouched. 

The long roads stretch out into the distance and disappear into the haze of the horizon leaving no hint of their destinations. I gaze down and wonder who walks there, who is looking out of a window hoping for the future. I want to walk along those roads, invisible. 

From up here I can watch ships, like beetles in a bathtub, leaving white wakes on inland seas that dazzle my eyes with light.

Joyful January

I looked up the chimney and peered under the beds. I poked around old pictures and sat watching some thoughts walk through my head. The biscuit tin was empty and the wind was blowing way too hard for a walk. I checked the drawers in the bedroom and even under the stairs. Joy seemed to be missing, not wanting to be found. Then, while sipping my tea, it suddenly dawned, she wasn't some 'thing' rather the stuff I was feeling.‪

When the clocks go back.

A full moon

And full womb

A black night

And candlelight

The veil's drawn

The air's thin

A swirling mist

Where three paths twist

We have a voice

There's always a choice

A time for drawing in

A time for dreaming.

After the Camino

As the sun pulls herself up

over the horizon

and through the wisps of clouds,

soft fingers of yellow light

lift me from my dreams.

I can begin again.

On a Whisper

On a whisper
from the darkest corner of morning
On the stairs
leading down to a longing
On a thought
remembering
On my skin
softest dancing
On the roof
rain.

I Am

I am the wet rain
I am the tilled soil
I am the smell of the breeze
I am the sound of a crashing wave.
My skin is a shell on the sand
My hair is moonlight
My eyes are caves where bats dwell
My lips the banks of rivers.
The Earth moves within me
The Moon pulls at my soul
The Planets plot my future
And the Stars spill from my hands.

~ Me