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the earthmaiden walks through the raw in-between of autumn glory and winter wonder lamenting the end of one, heralding the other. she sings: farewell to the rolling sea. farewell to the verdant meadow. farewell to the light-kissed flower. sighing, the earth hears her lullaby and sleeps. |
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To explain myself might give you the basic outline of who I am and how I perceive myself. But it would remove an element of subjective interpretation, would it not, an element of mystery? Who I am to you, to your friend, or to my sister are all different colors, because of the unique connection between us. No on else sees me with the eyes you do, or sees you the way I do. Charming thought, isn't it?!
I write because I must. Simple as that.
So I will leave you with a poem, that sums up the finite as well as eternal aspects of the written word. Make of it what you will:
would i find adequate expression
if i were flung into the world
in a million tiny droplets--
landing on sundry surfaces,
hungry to soak up the earth and
sky and every cell of life;
if i evaporate on a hot sunny day
only to return as a spring shower
on your skin, on your lips
trickling down your cheek to the
hollow of your neck, like jasmine
and dust united in the no-man's-land
that binds the ethereal to the
vulgar by simultaneous existence?
