Yearning

I yearn for a house in the country,
wild, dancing fields of grass,
full moon darkness of a pine forest at noon,
scent of dampness from the laughing brook's bank.

I yearn for the big dog
silently shadowing, pacing through fields of horses, my children waiting on the other side;
where I can be naked, my hair bathed in starshine,
feet anointed with the morning mist.

I yearn for a home in the depths of the country.
Hush listen:
twittering birds, rutling leaves,
kissing of wind on gentle, smooth skin,
happy in nature's household.

To Horses

To horses, to horses, to horses,

Of course.

I know the joy of horses,

of course.

Trot through my dreams,

Dance in my eyes,

Over the wall to the other side.

They carry us all, they do not deny;

My horses, my horses, my horses,

Of course.

Winter

Winter is a reminder to humankind

what a cold place this world can be.

Without the fertileness of the Earth,

the warmth of the Sun,

we are all but frozen souls

in a barren land.

Are your deepest desires, your unspoken wishes merely selfish sentiment ?

What happens when you listen to your heart of hearts? Are your deepest desires, your unspoken wishes merely selfish sentiment, or is fate directing you along the way? The emotion that motivates us, lurking in our subconscious, sometimes controlled, sometimes uncontrollable, often questioned, ever-present: if that desire is followed, whatever the final outcome, was it just a series of emotional choices or could it mean something more?

Call me romantic, call me foolish, I choose to believe that we are all just part of a great big tapestry, individual threads plied, dyed, racked and spindled, intricately woven together, designed by a swell of emotion, a turn of circumstance, a reaction to our surroundings, all for a purpose we cannot understand.

Your thread sometimes intertwines with darkness, sometimes with light, it may become enmeshed in an endless circle of night then further along slide into a moment of blue skies or bump down a rocky road, your thread will run through many different pictures; each thread has its path, each is an integral part of the tapestry, each thread is bound by many others.

Who is in charge of the weaving? That is an age old question.

Does anyone know what the final picture will be? Maybe we can catch glimpses but its entire breadth and scope seems beyond our perception.

Can we change the pattern? Possibly. Great artists are often directed by the color, the feel of their material. We may be able to influence the overall design to some degree; but then there are so many threads, so many desires, ultimately the final creation will be a joining of all the threads into a brilliant design. The individual thread is nothing much, nothing but an essential part of the whole.

My thread has run through the darkness and into light. Thinking of you now being woven next to me has caused this realization. Knowing that to reach you I first had to go somewhere that I didn't want to be gives me great strength and purpose, it enables me to recognize the good and true; for that I am grateful. Now my part of the weave will be tighter, stronger, more supportive.

Our threads have crossed before in a pattern I can't quite discern. I want to believe that was part of the bigger picture; that we were meant to touch and become aware of each other so that the next time we met it would mean something more.