For Yesterday Somehow

We are bent in the Wind that promises better things.
We watch the the clouds quilt the Sky.

Sometimes it seems sad,
that we sleep so much more than we dance.

The bridges of topic we burned with abandon in our March on Love.
Now Life is a Mad Tea Party of memories and still much to accomplish.

Now again they bent their heads and walked against the Wind..
The town waited around the hill.

They pass through the sleeping orchard dreaming of Summer herbs.
They speculate on the mystic apples of the future.
And find themselves home.:.

The Crust of Fire

The outer edge of the flame where it is just air before the smoke. Fire needs Air. Two Elements side by side, constant, entwined, changing shape without changing form. The art of point conciousness.. The heart as embryo, precursor to soul.

The devil on a tight rope with all the demons of grief below.

Just remember that no demon has eyes unless we give them.

What do you Ear?

The Moonscape of Autumn above treeline. The large boulders like an amphitheater of grinding teeth. The rocks don't see us for we are too emphemeral, and the peaks never know we are there. The bristlecone, ugly and stunted, bent and broken is the only worthy witness, but mute unless the Wind play the bow. Usually this area is refered to as the Kingdom of Wind, so that the mute talks a lot. On the limbs and leaves that can abide past treeline... But today the Air is slow and easily warmed by the hollowing of elevation. This is the silence of the peaks...

But it can turn on you swift, slow you down to a crawl, from where you would accept death for the warm embrace that it is...