I wake up earlier than everyone else, as usual, and after a few dizzy tries (my motor skills don't work well this early) spiral upward into the sky's mystical depths. Within the fuzzy clouds, thousands of feet above the earth, are rods of golden and flaming orange light. They are hot, but I press one to me in a kind of dance, closing my eyes and forgetting gravity and physical forces, turning in the movement of the wind...
After a while, the chill repairs me to continue my journey, to fly further down, through bogs and swamps and hilly forests and somber valleys and a beautiful stone bridge overlooking a glistening river-- no cars, just people walking...
Then, He comes.
He looks like pictures of my father when he was young, but he is not. He is just a shell. An evil spirit inside the form of his younger self, waiting to take possession of my soul. Patient, like water.
Past different planets, covered in mud in barns, disguised as purple lilies on endless vines in gardens, He finds me still and I am forced to flee, breathless yet lethargic, like a frozen grasshopper. When will the desperation end? When will my soul be free again to dance its untimely dance between the seas and outer atmosphere? All I ask is a tall cloud bank and arms to steer me through, the peace to commit my voyages, and a home to return to...I may be a wanderer, but still I want security...
I turn to the ghost and stand erect.
"I am not afraid of you. I'm so not afraid I'm able to compose poetry mid-flight, albeit poorly rhymed poetry." I say defiantly. "So, BEGONE! Trouble some other spirit, or better yet, don't trouble anyone at all! Go take a holiday. I'm not going to let you interfere with mine."
I return home, put on a bowtie, cook pancakes for breakfast, and pick some dandelions to put on the table.
No comments:
Post a Comment