You wake slowly, noticing the little things first. The hardness at your back, slightly rough, but still comfortable; the softness underneath you, it is springy and tickles your exposed legs; and a small weight which rests in your lap. You feel warm, but a cool mist-laden breeze keeps you from becoming uncomfortably warm and the scent of rain on the air envelopes you. A drop falls on your forehead and you wake fully.
Your eyes flicker open and you take in the scene around you. The leaves of the tree hanging down in front of you, the soft emerald green grass and the rain, steadily and heavily falling outside of the shelter of your tree. You look down to see a book resting in your lap, open to a page with a beautiful picture printed on it. The black lines form a dragon looking down on a fallen hero, but not with malice, somehow the eyes of the dragon seem caring, and sad. You don't remember this book, or the storm around you.
The world feels different somehow, though you have only been asleep for a few moments you feel the whole world has shifted. Has it left you behind? Does it matter if it has?
Friday, October 29, 2010
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Your eyes scan a landscape lit by the grey light of dawn. The air is chilly and damp, the breeze bringing the scent of water to you. The moss beneath you is soft and damp. Before you the fire is just a heap of ashes.
The stone you sit on is in the centre of a dried up creek bed which leads down to the raging river bellow. Where the dry creek meets the river you see a calm pool, uncannily still next to the river which flows strong and fast beyond it. You walk down to the pool's edge.
The water is clear and cool. Silver fish dart beneath its surface disappearing into the churning river. Nothing separates this pool from the river, its merely out of the path of its flow.
You skirt the pools' edge until the rivers' spray dampens your clothes. The glint of the sun off the what waters holds your attention for a moment, then with a sigh you begin your long trek upstream.
Monday, February 15, 2010
You look up to a black sky littered with stars. They glitter like gems casting their pale glow onto the world below. You stretch your mind out to them, losing yourself in them. For a moment you feel as if you are among them. The hoot of an owl brings you back to earth.
The night is quiet, disturbed only by the crackling of your fire and the rush of the river. The sounds of the animals are few and far between, often at a distance and half hidden by the sound of water. The fire's light tints the river and the stones beneath you a golden orange.
Your seat is a boulder, softened by a thick layer of moss. In front of you the fire burns low; you watch as it dies down, eyes drooping as it becomes mere coals aglow.
You gently lie back onto the moss. The moss is soft, the night warm, and the pounding of the river almost hypnotic in nature. Slowly you drift into sleep.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
The sun shines down on you from its place still high in the sky. For a moment you see nothing, your eyes dazzled by its brightness after the dark of the cave. You blink the spots out of your eyes, trying in vain to see the landscape before you.
You take a step out of the cave and almost fall. Beneath your feet loose pebbles slide, leaving you feeling unbalanced. As you regain your balance your sight also returns and you finally see the landscape before you.
The grey mountains tower above it all, like sentinels; watching, guarding. They seem to shelter and protect this beautiful places which lie within their shadows.
You then bring your eyes down to the stones beneath your feet. The small pebbles litter the ground outside the cave. Moss coats some. As you look at the pebbles further away it comes to your mind that this is a long dry creek-bed.
You follow the creek with your eyes until you lose it in the sea of trees. The trees carpet the valley; a sea of green split down its centre by the wide white waters of a river.
The roaring of the river and the call of the birds surrounds you as you begin our careful journey down the creek.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Before you is a dark opening in the rock where the strong midday sun doesn't reach. In your hands you hold a lit lantern which casts no light in this brighter world.
With the lantern held out in front you enter the cave. The heat of the day is immediately gone, replaced by a damp chill. Your eyes take a moment to adjust.
The floor of the cave is smooth, curving up to meet walls just as smooth. From the roof hang stalactites which, some so low you need to duck. The tunnel begins to twist and turn and soon the light of outside is lost totally.
The lantern struggles to pierce the darkness ahead and behind. The stalactites become looming shadows and the walls seem to leap out at you in the flickering light.
You stop, three black openings have appeared in front of you. Your lantern refuses to light them, refuses to give you a clue as to which way is best.
After a moment of indecision you choose a direction and push forwards once more. As you walk you realise that you do not know how long you have been in the caves; it could have been minutes or even hours. As a light appears before you, you realise you will soon find out.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Your seat is of twisted wood, in the fork of a mighty tree. The bark is smooth and the wood is a rich red-brown.
The wind through the trees sounds like a river and brings with it the smell of damp earth and water. It brushes against your face, cool and fresh.
Down bellow you are twisting branches which reach up past you to support the canopy above. Leaves block your view around you and stretch above you. The leaves are a deep rich green which blocks almost all the light.
The dim space under the canopy closes in around you and the branches seem like paths. They entice you out along them and into the unknown. You look out along one branch, following its twists and turns with your eyes until you lose it in the leaves.
You look back now to your own seat, and though the bark is smooth beneath you it is rough in other places. Your fingers journey across it, wondering what landscape they'll find.
You are brought back to the real world by a voice calling your name. With a sigh you begin the slow decent from your lofty perch.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
The chair is soft and comfortable under you, its soft cushioned seat and intricately carved back seem just made for you. Before you is a large desk of dark wood. The walls are also wood, in fact there is only one piece of metal in the entire room.
The metal takes the form of a winter tree which spreads its branches across the wall in front of you, behind the desk. Its branches are adorned with golden flowers, candles with wax dripping like melting snow.
The candles cast a warm glow over the papers which litter the desk. You pick one up and stare for a moment at the florid handwriting.
You pick up a simple feather quill from its place in the ink pot before you. After a small pause you make an attempt to add your thoughts to the page you hold. The only sound you can hear is the rustling of the papers and the scratch of your quill. The feather tickles your face as you lean down to the page, and a smile graces your lips.
One by one the candles wink out and with only one small flame guiding you, you place the quill down and leave the desk.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Before you a vertical sheet of water, wider than any other. Misted by a lighter spray, you reach your hand forward to feel the heavier spray. The noise is thunderous, pounding in your ears and drowning out all other sound.
Beneath your feet is a smooth stone, rising out of the water. The stone is slick with water, but you are balanced; no fear do you have of falling.
As you stand there you get wetter and wetter. Your clothes have become heavy, and the damp raises goosebumps in the cool breeze which blows off the falls.
You cup your hands to catch the spray and you bring the cool water to your mouth. The water runs down your chin as you drink from it. The water tastes fresh and pure, just as it looks.
The sun has begun its decent and waterfall seems to glow, tinted with the golds and pale pinks of sunset. The day turns cool and you turn to leave.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
The taste of strawberries lingers on your lips, sweet yet acidic. Sweet scents hang heavy in the air dancing on the wind. The grass you lie on is rich and lush, both in smell and and against your back, so comfortable.
You're warm where the sun caresses yet cool where the shade falls. Its comforting and you feel no need to move.
Reaching over your body, forming the cool dappled shadows, are the flowers dark against the sky. They are pale, each giving off a different scent. The smells don't clash, but rather weave into a beautiful melody, brought on the wind.
You twirl in your hands a single white wildflower as you lose yourself in it all.
The pencil slides across the paper, fingers across the keys; they seek to create a world, an escape from the one we see. Dangers linger in this new world, but can be overcome, its easier than the world outside. Feats of daring and calming scenes all emerge from the words. Emotions, sadness, happiness, and those which no words can define, yet words it was which awoke them.
The power of words, to calm and release. Have you felt the power?