the brilliant light within the forest

A child I once knew came to me on a darkened day. His hair disheveled, his voice timid, his eyes a mysterious light. He came and spoke to me a story I’ve never heard. A story of birds and horses crossing rivers; of snakes and frogs and singing siblings; of old-time adventures and coyotes in disguise. He spoke of a place in the forest not far. A clearing where the brilliant sunshine could be felt penetrating through the leaves of the forest canopy. He spoke of the magic there that can be had as it belonged to no one. Magic that shown as if all the stars in the universe were melted into one. He coaxed me to go with shining eyes and opened heart. We went. We ventured through the groves and the meadows of the forest. Through the darkness of it’s depths. Finally, we came upon it, the clearing in the forest. And magnificent it was. The magic was there, as he said, sitting in the center upon a rock. It shone with colors I can’t quite describe….ever-changing blues, green and purples, golden silvers, and crimson fires. He picked it up, this burning light, and with a smile placed it gently into my hands. “Guard it with all of your love, sweet one,” said the boy. I looked at the light hypnotized by it’s radiant simplicity. Transfixed was my gaze as I peered further and further into its center. From a distance, like a whisper, I heard the boy say he will return. I nodded, not understanding his meaning. And there with this light, this magic, I was left, left in the clearing in the middle of the deep deep forest for the return of my friend who never came back.

early morning songbirds

in the early morning their songs fill the air. singing, humming of last nights secrets. clear and resonate they travel with the morning wind to the ears of those around them. some of their songs resemble the trickle of a near empty waterfall, some the soft rustling of leaves across the ground, and others the shining cries of dawns last stars. on and on they sing their songs merging their stories into one big composition. weaving their sounds in and out they create a fabric of harmony that completed tells the tales of long ago.

this is what they are after, these children, these collectors of birds. the never-ending story of the past, of the future, of all time. they’ve gotten pieces of it here and there listening to each individual bird sing their song. however, they knew that the great myth of time was revealed only when they all sang at once, in a symphony of sound.

she divines the future with the help of her lizards

quietly she listens to the secrets whispered in her ear

the dream

the little girl has shown me my dreams and imaginings. she sat atop the jungle gym and peered out blankly into the surrounding forest, almost as if she were seeing truths that could not be seen by others. there in her absent stare i saw through her eyes, what she was seeing. a grove filled with foxes, she said, though i knew they were wolves, grey wolves. they were all huddled together as if for a meeting of some kind. there were other animals amongst them, though i knew not what they were and their numbers were few. the image i was seeing was blurry, then it all together disappeared and i was once again looking into the eyes of the child. the eyes that shown a brilliant grey that sat upon a blank face, without expression.