Wild Thing Living

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 –

~ ~ ~

Wild Thing Living

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,

with

The Wild Thing Living.

Oil Painting Wild Thing Living © 2014 Teri Flynn @ Masked Native

The Weight of Time

In this moment.

– NOW –

I am o.k.

Time bubble

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.

Winding Roads

Winding Comeragh roadOn 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.