The Cave of The Imagination

I have often puzzled over just exactly how the imagination might work. This morning I followed a chink of light that took me into a shard of understanding. On a beach, tucked into a far corner lies a cave. Here the force of tides has found purchase and over eons has carved a reminder of all its turbulence. The power that created these waves has traveled from across the oceans and left its mark on the walls without and within this granite chamber.

So to do the elemental forces, stirred by emotion and actions from faraway places, peoples and times, find a soft spot in some open mind to paint their pictures as a record of their existence. Finding these pictures is like paging through a photograph album. Stories are told and truths are surrendered.

These scenes are not a figment of my imagination they are whispers from Angels given as a gift so that I may know the truths of life.

Dream

The night was so still

the moon not quite full
I went walking in the dark
and drank my fill.
On the hill
high above the sea
I watched the world around me
as it sunk into sleep.
I wandered in and out
with drifting souls
offering dreams on platters
and their thoughts I stole.
I will turn these into pictures
and paint them bright colours
and gift them
as I would to a lover.
Then I will sleep
bright among the stars
and watch the world every night.

The Darling Water of February

The Darling water of February
Flowed over the stones
and into her bones
And the sun and the heat
It beat
Down on the ground
And she moved
And she stretched
And she groaned.
The air
I swear
It was everywhere.
Fresh and new
It blew
Around her
And knowledge grew.
Like the pale white petals of the blackthorn
Mother of the woods
Reminder of destiny
First tree of Spring.