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Up The Stone Stairs
Up The Stone Stairs
I should be sleeping. But creativity suffers not the rationality of reason or logic.
I walk the bright hallowed grounds of Parfrey's Glen, my spirits rising with every step, as they always do, by the splendor. Once again I reven in the raw psychic energy of the wild that flows through me in this place. I walk up the quartzite hewn stairs with the elation that comes naturally there.
The wild flowers sway in joyous harmony with the breeze that comforts my summer walk. Am I mistaken, or are there more flowers out today than ought be? Curious, but exciting.
As I tred upon the long narrow bridge of wood I once again imagine the laughter of children. It is a strange memory that I cannot shake, always popping into mind every time. Only today that laughter seems more solid than etherial. One could almost mistake it for reality, if one did not know better.
Was that a voice up ahead? I cannot tell. It is lost in the wind. But I hurry now, desperate to know, following a path I know so well, and yet strangely seems foreign to me now. It is the same as always, and yet, somehow different.
I walk up the great boulders, stolid friends forever waiting, guardians of the past. I hurry beyond, to the waterfall, cute, idealic ... but strangely larger than I ever remember it being before. And what is this? The path does not end where it should, but goes right up to the fall, skirting the water, passing beneath it. Dare I slight from this challenge? Never!
I hurry along, a fear of the unknown thrilling through me, my hair on edge. This is not the Parfrey's Glen that I know, and yet it is feels more real to me than the already faded memories of what should be.
As I duck under the falling water I behold. I find not the cave that is expected, but a whole other world.
The moon shines brilliantly in the sky, like a silver sun, loving and cool, never burning or harsh. The stars literally dance in the bright night sky, colors more vivid than any lights on Earth, tracing patterns no astronomer could tame. The land is likewise alive around me, lush, green, soft, friendly.
I hear the voice I could not quite make out before. She calls to me, becons me turn towards her. She is a pale beauty, ageless, timeless, eternal. Her every feature is marble, chisseled, hard as stone. But as she embraces me I find that her flesh is soft in every place it should be.
She steps back, releasing me. Her dress unfurls into sparkling fairie wings. With a thrum of power she lifts from the ground, up, up, into the night, her red curls streaming around her in the sparkling starry light of her green eyes. She becons me follow, not with her voice, but simply with her, the magic of her, like the magic of this place.
Without thought I follow, not knowing or caring how, drawing upon the energies around me to give form to my desire. We chase one another through the skies, before resting upon a cloud. Heaving from exertion, we play, we wrestle, we glisten. We kiss. A moment of tender purity and perfect passion upon soft red lips.
We sing to each other a balad of love with our skin and our heat and our hearts as the stars burst like fireworks in the sky, mirroring our wet fireworks within. And as we tire, sated, for now, we lay upon the cloud to watch them as it drifts slowly lower, eventually bringing us back to ground.
We get up and she hugs me once again. And with a delighted smile says to me, "Welcome to Eire. Welcome back home."
7/15/2006 3:22 pm
BEAUTIFUL - simply beautiful. |