Windrose Diaries II: The Quickening

joans-house-collioure

The Quickening

Into the stone-carved silence

drifts a voice from distant shores

as my vision clears into the shape of the windrose

which indicates that the course

has shifted yet again

in situ

my life flows

life flowing

life contracting, concentrating

as if to pass like luminous sands

through a narrow hourglass

A tremor is felt as plates

shift beneath the placid exterior

landscape leaving no stone unturned

The changing tides and sinking sun;

the threads chafe in the hands of destiny

who sits weaving and unmaking patterns

in the fading light and strong wind

The voice,

I heard it,

it called to me

from a distant shore

…or did it come from the illusion

that I saw through my opened window

of wide open space painted on the wall of

the house next door in colors too rich

to be born of earth?

A solitary star pierces the twilight

which does more to accentuate the darkness

than to provide light

Hope is carried on the points

of the windrose…

I  travel unmoving among the gypsies and

forgotten people hidden away in their transitory keeps

in the lost corners of my mind

who tell stories, laugh in the darkness

and dance in the pure light of the virgin night

clothed softly in the new moon;

who teach me the language of the

distant voice folding me into its

silent resonance

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