 |
|
 |
| Untitled by © smells_like_fried_bread The night came softly, slowly wandered into the bedroom and swallowed light and the day's memories. Only stillness remained in the room until I turned the page that sent waves of cool night air to dance with the stillness and rhythm of my breath and heartbeat. It was a good book, but I read on until I felt the city yawn, until I felt it stretch and settle into its blanket of pavement and noise. I wait for dreams to find me; dreams of heroes, songs, voice, and guidance. I slip away from the noise, from tire, from guilt, from smoke, from worry. I wait for the air to shift, and reveal the quiet dance that has always been there. A dance that continues to move the wind, and shift our thoughts. A dance that continues to connect, move, and give us strength. I know the dream has finally come, and I roll over to enjoy it with each deep breath. I hear the deep, rich, constant beat of a drum and decide that it is my own heartbeat. Suddenly, I see nothing, but feel the lingering presence of movement, of flight, of something urging me forward, whispering into the wind that holds me close. Where have the women gone, the dancers, the elders? I feel lost. The dream scares me more than any other has, and I wish to wake up. But still, darkness surrounds me, and nothing can be seen. Everything can be imagined. I start walking towards where I imagine my mother sits, and the whispers begin again... |
 |
|
|