I arise from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sweep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright.
The nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart,
As I must die on thine,
O, beloved as thou art!
My cheek is cold and white, alas!
My heart beats loud and fast:
Oh! press it close to thine again,
Where it will break at last
~Die Verbannten Kinder Evas
Sleep finally carried me beneath its gentle touch and took me on a new venture. It was not the 'convertible parked on a romantic hillside with the top rolled back, only this time he wasn't praying for the end of time' kind of journey that I had hoped. It was an eclectic mix that made no sense and at the same time held volumes in its wisdom.
Everything seemed to open up into a world of perfect beauty painted in wonderful shades of green. Green grass, green trees, a lake so pure that it shone emerald beneath the sky's touch. Even the lanscape had a gentle rolling to its highs and lows. It was the kind of place you just wanted to spread a checkered tablecloth, pull out a bottle of wine with cheese and sit listening to the birds sing. Across the lake I could see a house. I could see into it. A murial sculpted against the far wall was soothing and beckoning as well. I wanted to go there and see it up close, to be there and began a journey to find it.
The path held gardens of beautiful flowers and delicate vines that continued the lure to go on. When I found the house it was no less breath taking than the portrait of the lake had been. A welcoming committee turned out to offer gifts. One that stood out more than any other was a darker skinned man that gave me a carpet. He didn't have the markings of the tribe across his cheeks, instead he reminded me of the dessert, the sun kissed sands. The rug he held out was soft and supple enough that I draped it over my shoulders like a cloak. It covered me almost completely so that only my hands were left exposed. My fingers ran across the weave appreciating the workmanship. The hues so rich and vibrant they almost blended together though the patterns of swirls and florets never seemed to fade. It was woven in shades of beige, orange, brown, black, yellow and a rich purple. It was so delightful that I took it with me as I went to explore the house.
Dimensions are never what they seem in a dream and the walls were not walls but stairs that led upward. Each step had to be taken with caution as the steps were laden with pretty little potted plants, curiosities and books. I had to watch where each of my feet rested on the risers, amused that my feet were all I could see. I wanted to stop there and check out each blossom and title that I passed but I needed to continue on.
At the top there was a door that opened into a room that seemed to have no boundaries. As far as I could see in any direction it simply held chairs, those comfy kind like you find at an old Grand Theater but on the other side I watched a column of people file by. They were singing in a low chant with chanticlars emitting streams of smoke that filled in the spaces in between. I have no answer of why it caused me to grow worried. The feeling of concern was real for a little girl, one with yellow hair and a smile that could have been painted by the sun it was so bright. Only dreams know why they change in such a way. But I searched until I found her in a white room surrounded by light. She was a little rumpled around the edges but I woke before I could find out why.
Nothing of this nocturnal vision has interest to anyone else but even upon waking it seemed important that I remember each detail, each color. Despite a jitter to my hands and a race of pulse through my veins that felt like each one was on fire I had this smile that wouldn't seem to dim. If only I could have washed away that strange copper taste that coated my tongue.
The central fire had lifted its sleepy head yet and in the amber fused purple haze of the morning I put each tidbit to memory before I rose. There had to be some kind of meaning to them. Making sure to tuck the blanket in around my tiny sleepwalker, I had to check to see if it was multi-colored but it was just my gently worn little old one. I headed off for the emerald stream looking for yellow bricks along the way. You see I had promised Cana I would have blackwine ready when she woke. raven reminded me that was her job but since I'd volunteered, I could brace the cooler mornings to get the water. That girl is so good to me.
In the first sweet sweep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright.
The nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart,
As I must die on thine,
O, beloved as thou art!
My cheek is cold and white, alas!
My heart beats loud and fast:
Oh! press it close to thine again,
Where it will break at last
~Die Verbannten Kinder Evas
Sleep finally carried me beneath its gentle touch and took me on a new venture. It was not the 'convertible parked on a romantic hillside with the top rolled back, only this time he wasn't praying for the end of time' kind of journey that I had hoped. It was an eclectic mix that made no sense and at the same time held volumes in its wisdom.
Everything seemed to open up into a world of perfect beauty painted in wonderful shades of green. Green grass, green trees, a lake so pure that it shone emerald beneath the sky's touch. Even the lanscape had a gentle rolling to its highs and lows. It was the kind of place you just wanted to spread a checkered tablecloth, pull out a bottle of wine with cheese and sit listening to the birds sing. Across the lake I could see a house. I could see into it. A murial sculpted against the far wall was soothing and beckoning as well. I wanted to go there and see it up close, to be there and began a journey to find it.
The path held gardens of beautiful flowers and delicate vines that continued the lure to go on. When I found the house it was no less breath taking than the portrait of the lake had been. A welcoming committee turned out to offer gifts. One that stood out more than any other was a darker skinned man that gave me a carpet. He didn't have the markings of the tribe across his cheeks, instead he reminded me of the dessert, the sun kissed sands. The rug he held out was soft and supple enough that I draped it over my shoulders like a cloak. It covered me almost completely so that only my hands were left exposed. My fingers ran across the weave appreciating the workmanship. The hues so rich and vibrant they almost blended together though the patterns of swirls and florets never seemed to fade. It was woven in shades of beige, orange, brown, black, yellow and a rich purple. It was so delightful that I took it with me as I went to explore the house.
Dimensions are never what they seem in a dream and the walls were not walls but stairs that led upward. Each step had to be taken with caution as the steps were laden with pretty little potted plants, curiosities and books. I had to watch where each of my feet rested on the risers, amused that my feet were all I could see. I wanted to stop there and check out each blossom and title that I passed but I needed to continue on.
At the top there was a door that opened into a room that seemed to have no boundaries. As far as I could see in any direction it simply held chairs, those comfy kind like you find at an old Grand Theater but on the other side I watched a column of people file by. They were singing in a low chant with chanticlars emitting streams of smoke that filled in the spaces in between. I have no answer of why it caused me to grow worried. The feeling of concern was real for a little girl, one with yellow hair and a smile that could have been painted by the sun it was so bright. Only dreams know why they change in such a way. But I searched until I found her in a white room surrounded by light. She was a little rumpled around the edges but I woke before I could find out why.
Nothing of this nocturnal vision has interest to anyone else but even upon waking it seemed important that I remember each detail, each color. Despite a jitter to my hands and a race of pulse through my veins that felt like each one was on fire I had this smile that wouldn't seem to dim. If only I could have washed away that strange copper taste that coated my tongue.
The central fire had lifted its sleepy head yet and in the amber fused purple haze of the morning I put each tidbit to memory before I rose. There had to be some kind of meaning to them. Making sure to tuck the blanket in around my tiny sleepwalker, I had to check to see if it was multi-colored but it was just my gently worn little old one. I headed off for the emerald stream looking for yellow bricks along the way. You see I had promised Cana I would have blackwine ready when she woke. raven reminded me that was her job but since I'd volunteered, I could brace the cooler mornings to get the water. That girl is so good to me.
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