my child has a birth-day ....
and i am feeling the turning of seasons upon this corporeal-self ...
and i am feeling the turning of seasons upon this corporeal-self ...
turning, churning, crashing, mixing & simmering ...
of
time
where does it go ?
is it all the same ?
whether one stands atop everest, hiking the trail, sitting in your purple comfy chair
or amidst the tumble of warm oceans ....
whether one is birthing a child, birthing a song, or dreaming of lost dogs, white sand & red dresses
sleeping, loving, shopping, fighting, remembering
lending a hand, creating a world, breaking up ice, breaking a heart
as we walk across the pages of our lives ...
it
turns & churns & tumbles about us in cerulean blue & amber pink washes of brightness
and somber shades of shadow & frigid cold
these legs have stood on mountains, worn tango shoes & gone barefoot in city parks ....
these legs have swayed to jazz & lullabies .... rocked his world
and tormented my own ....
birth ... days
earth ... days
time
is
it.
time
measured by sundials of wonder & wait ....
thru the kaleidoscope of days
we are all the same
yet .... in the
scat-tracings of our cosmic dust .....
can you see the heart-casting ?
some echo detected by an ethereal diviners rod about the root of ivory bones ?
the surprise of the perfect gift, the smell of pine trees, the thrill of touch & lost innocence,
the sensation of your child's prickly ginger hair upon your lips, the color blue,
that timeless snapshot from under the christmas tree when your are 6 as you look up into the lights,
the brisk crunch of snow, the smell of spring dirt, the feel of rain, the glory of storms
the delight of reading, watching, learning, eating red-velvet cake, feeling, laughing ....
the pleasure of friends & warm hands & warm beds
the truth of a song, naps & long-slow kisses
as we walk across the pages of our lives ...
time
endows us with the puzzle pieces
shrouded in fog & wind blown ....
but
truths & traces ....
of
velvet magic
