Poetry 'n Prose

The Returning Dream

A child’s swing hangs from the branches in a walled and shaded corner. A moment’s curling breeze sways ripening fruit, lifts leaves, ruffles ferns and lilies, clusters long underlying grasses.

A scent of something wild and beautiful, like the passing breath of hope lingers in its wake. Two windows from a far house blaze briefly, twice, in whiteness, and shoot late afternoon sunlight back at me here in the shadow, a someone opens and closes them.

In a language not my own, a woman’s voice calls out the name of a girl I recognise from a faded photograph. Three times she calls, with a breath between each naming and the girl, who was nowhere, darts from a tree behind her.

She places her hands over her mother’s eyelids and giggles. She turns around to face her, smiles the smile only shared by children, raises forefinger to pursed lips and turns and skips to the voice of a folk song in the distant house beyond. The song that anoints our garden with love.

for Ieva

By 67paintings

A dialectical site of poetry, painting and the odd musical excursion into the unknown.

6 replies on “The Returning Dream”

It sounds like a dream of hope and peace. If you remember it, it’s a ‘true’ dream telling you things you want to know, or things you need to know.

In autumn there is hope – the seed of new life. From the womb of the darkest hour, dawn emerges, fresh-faced and beautiful. It extends its hand – ‘come, let’s walk together again through one more day…’

Peace comes from acceptance – and you are a reservoir of acceptance, contentment. Autumn will come, but it too, brings dazzling beauty, and then it fades away to make way for new seasons.

Staywell, in peace!

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