Saturday, January 8, 2011
The Rock
Through the lawn between the flower beds
To the summer house
Stone tea house with its winged roof
And open windows
There I sat imagining I was a gypsy
In the woods, my horse somewhere grazing
There I would have the fireplace
And there, my bed and table
There the shelves for food and clothes
Maybe one box for sheets and blankets
I had it all figured out back then
And beyond, just over the fence
Our rock sat half as high as a man and wide as a bed
At the top of the field
Surrounded by tall grass
Climbing up on the rock
My brother and I would sit and dream
Looking down the hill all the way down
To the road, to the trickling stream
That elsewhere was a river or a tumbling falls
We’d talk of who we were in our past lives
He was a prince in one life,
A blue djinn in another
I was a fairy nestled in my flying bubble
That made all the world look magical
The waving grass surrounded us like a sea
Caressed by the warm wind
Our rock where we could always
Tell the truth.
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2 comments:
Love this one, Laura. Beautiful. Somehow makes me think of a touchstone
MW.
Thanks. It really is a touchstone. And also being so big and solid, a sense of being held by the earth.
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