In the turn of events that comes a sense of being helpless follows me… where does the hand go… the foot… the combination of presence and strength… where do the bows get tied and the laces anchored… another column or pier aside of the original idea… she slept of course in angular positions… settled into the forest grass across from the running stream bathed in sunlight… a golden dream slipped… when the tide turned over the land into winter’s grasp a cold shoulder followed… a universal salutation… she weeps of times and holds onto the rare and secret awakening… hold on to the forest… hold onto the simple routines of today and let the other thoughts fade a bit… white light shimmers a blindness of settling the dilemma… there is not an easy answer to the hold one takes… I wish some times for the trees to melt… butt they stand the test of my desire and grow as they should… and perhaps that is the lesson to be learned… that each has a destiny and what that is we can only help to unfold… the rest we have to trust to hands outside of ours… and when we have that helpless hoping fleeting sensation… maybe especially then we should embrace it a bit and sing… leap along the water’s edge of just take a slip beneath the heated forest canopy… what ever is around the next bend awaits… and so this makes know sense or it does… all that is known is what is required and yet there is always some interesting shard amiss in all adventures… cross roads wait only so long before moving on…

The larger the collection the harder it is to make a choice… the more the merrier it was said until the more becomes expansive and from there it is a dilemma as witch one to pick… some times less is truly more… butt then the stretch of my imagination and appetite has been interesting to say the least… an open mind is a fertile ground for new sounds… or new to me butt older than now so it seems… a little taste of the past in each song there is… song often relate the past… more often I feel than knot… some thing kicking its way into the forest of now… I whisper to the strings a note or two to play over and over until… she sweeps the floor and finds the rocks arranged in sweeping arcs… a slow channel of sound corrects me continuously until I make my way across the sound… the oars sweep the sea a wake aglow in the moonlight… there is not a sight nor a sound to behold butt there it is night and day to behold and held in the crush of summertime… she dreams in white lace and whispers in scented smiles… and it is butt a angel once who spoke to me of another time… perhaps I can dance all by myself at another time under the halo… so drink the drink and sip the wine… a casual hand caresses the fingers along the tips and across the cheek the warmth afire in flames to ash I turn all at once to settle into my wings for there is neither fire nor flight in the ash butt a chance to be reborn… slip into the picture paint brush in hand and arrange the halos one at a time… take to the wing and fly free of the forest for a time… some times the flight is what we desire most… the wind beneath ones wings for a time to glide on the thermals in awe of the physics of the earth…

A shiver sent… a withered hand bound in clay waves… a single ash rests in the fallen leaf… a hole some where awaits the rustling wind… she stops to ponder the frost upon the finger lakes… a talent springs to life… awakened in the death of autumn… a rainbow of white shades of light never seen nor aware are we of the subtle whispers aligned in each phase of melting… she whisper and the winter melts away…

Some time has elapsed from the previous encounter… I waited silently in the cavernous hall to know the veil as it closed… there is never enough time to say what is on one’s mind in peace… butt in anger there will always be a moment when the flash ignites the pan and sends flames everywhere… there is that sense about me… guarded I am of the fire that flares from time to time… there is no longer a need to wait for there is know one coming back to the crossroads… those possibilities have elapsed into dreams that will never come true… what was once a dream is a dream once more… so perhaps the change is a good one after all…

She can’t take you any where you don’t already know how to go… it just takes a push or a shove to get moving down the hill and then momentum picks you up and suddenly you are there in the bliss or the thrill of the moment… the fact that she can’t does not limit what she can do with a simple look or hint… the hint being more or a seduction then a confrontation of the naked truth… the allure of the imagination is more of a turn and a twist then the reality… butt then I am already standing on the ground… so perhaps a some what higher ground might be required for me…