before dawn, Cafe Amsterdam, Sydney, 1999


One day upon a misty morn, the sun rose pink in the sky, and tinted the sky and all rose pink and purple.  And swirled the sky with the blue and green currents of life.  The leaves began to glitter, with thousands of crystals lining their edges.  The wind blowed softly and the leaves and their flowers swayed and danced, and the music they made was sweet and low, the sounds of a thousand sparkles, of pianic notes, of water tapping and rocks and talking to itself.
   The birds and insectine travellers, their feathers the most perfect petals that do melt in the sun, and the colours that flowd from their velvety throats matching their singing songs like honey and milk and sounding complexly of water.
  The sun rises higher but flowers do not melt.  They glow more glorious, and flash out across the meadow.  The birds and insectine travellers sound louder.  The wind grows and the crystals singing, gaining complexity.
   I imagine, what could I possibly imagine?  But the sing song paints an object, a tapestry, and all the world flows together and I see how it all fits together in a moment, the long moment, frozen forever and only for a moment.
  And it is a patten, a picture, with depth, and most perfect texture and it is the roots of all the trees come together to one tree, and all the crystals of the bones of earth come together as a single crystalline traveller, and it is a single tone then a note, repeating, a rhythm, with the note repeating rhythm, with echoes...
   The grass is soft... rainbow coloured, fractal selved, murmured softly to ground.  Can you hear it?  Satin smooth, underlying everything.
    I look into Leaf, and see....
     Each cell, it's own little world of jewel.
   I need to remember, to know you part of myself, feel you embracing you/me.
   And you take me in, to your veins...  and i am home, being welcomed back, feeling like i was never away, and my self has always been a dream... of separateness from beauty.  The colony, I am back, I am warm and safe and alive and excited again. 
   Come, we have so many things to show, discoveries that you have never seen, or felt.
   But all things pass, expecially colours, to be renewed for another day, another moment, and they pass outwards with the sun and the swirling currents of life.  They stream away into death.  Like a pool emptying itself of water, the colours fade from the sky.