in places I cannot see.
in spaces I cannot feel.
Where the river carves a gash
Through the road
So that none shall pass,
There is nothing to do
But sit on my arse.
I slip into those quiet places
Where broken parts meld and mend
And in lost-ness, I find a friend.
She sits, dipping into the quiet spaces that dwell between the thoughts – collage of sounds and pictures that clutter the cerebral walls.
The quiet spaces – cool refreshing pools formed by the rainwater that falls, sometimes a trickle, sometimes a torrent, on the earth.
Where the water falls, seeds planted lifetimes ago find nourishment and begin to sprout and grow. Eventually to flower – petals spreading like flakes of coloured light that catch the Sun.
Petals, like invisible velvet to the fingertips – disappearing between the skin – soft, yet almost imperceptible. Their colours gold and fuchsia, deep poppy red and cornflower blue.
Early morning sunlight enters the window panes. She opens the windows and smells the air – grassy, sweet, fragrant with flowers, alive with birdsong.
The sunlight warms her eyelids, burning away the sleep of night.