Falling into your tired
and gentle eyes,
I found in you a
from the silver moon
through the clear,
stark window pane.
I looked with my
humming heart at you,
and then moon,
in her vibrant wisdom,
threaded and melded
our sacred sounds with
the eternal line of time.
Time – which has
no beginning and no end
and asks nothing of we two
but to simply be
Grey…. I am not sure about this…….it’s more a pewter, but dull….
dull ……. oh…. so ….. dull…..”Dull as ditch water”, a grump riddled parent used to bark…… not about the weather, but about some creative piece I had written or drawn……
Dull – as – ditch – water………
I remember winters then. I remember snowdrifts, sledges, being pulled, but being scared, snowballs in the face ….. getting frozen toes and jolly red cheeks…..soaking wet socks, the crisp nakedness of undisturbed fallen snow; where has it all gone?
oh, how I loved winter, then.
It’s this grey….. this grey that hangs around like a splodge of badly mixed paints, looming, ready to tip all over my world… but it never happens….. not today anyway…… it’s just grey……
Like my mood: incubating….. not dull, no…….never that.
She said she would never fall in love again.
Her first falling was when she was six…..
her cousin was oh, so handsome.
The last time she fell in love
was when she was sixty……
and she realised,
love had changed.
she thought love to be a winged jester,
a poser, a tiresome, cavernous voice
on her aching shoulder……
Now at sixty-three,
she notices the glimmer in her eyes,
as if a lover may appear at any moment.
She wonders if by 66 Love may have come full circle…..
“One never knows”, she whispers to the cat,
“One just never knows anything for sure,
not even about Love’s Messenger.”