Come away, O human child.
To the waters and the wild. With a faery, hand in hand.
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
-‘The Stolen Child’ William Butler Yeats –
~ ~ ~
Long after fires are spent on ancient ground,
in wind that brings your voice, your smile,
there is no such thing as time, only bare feet on dew wet grass,
The Wild Thing Living.
Oil Painting Wild Thing Living © 2014 Teri Flynn @ Masked Native
And the sea filled a heart shell
with heart sand.
And you are here,
in my heart.
In this moment.
– NOW –
I am o.k.
My mind races to a time that is not of this moment. A somewhere in the future time. Very soon, or distant. My shoulders ache. My arms are heavy. My legs stiff. My thoughts, too unbearable to think. I try to hide. I will not face it. I will not give it permission. But it is so hard, to be in the peace of now, when time is neither here nor there, and yet, it’s weight is everywhere.
On winding roads, the destination appears within reach, around the next corner, past weathered clumps of dried grass, each twist and turn bringing more of the same. Time waits for no man, so they say, but I’m not in a hurry, the air is fresh, clean. Mountain sheep invite me to stay awhile. We meet in mutual consideration, acknowledge footsteps, insignificant in eyes that long only to arrive. This winding, mountain road holds me, spellbound, rooted, my destination, here, now.
With the first hint of light, the chorus begins.
The song breaks the dawn in a symphony of love and praise.
The universe beats in time to the rhythm and hearts large and small,
feathers and all, sing.