i drive home in this sweet scented darkness accompanied by the soft trickles and tickles of the rain waters falling from heavens high only to leave soft pitters and patters that break to the very core of a man's soul.
a warm breeze brushes my hair back
as if it were your soft hands running over each follicle. that subtle way, that slight touch that sends me between worlds of awake and asleep.
the trees are flashing by through brief glimmers of the dusk light as if to wave their greetings to me from the world of the wildthings
each branch reaching out to lift us up with our broken wings and make us fly once more
fly back into my peaceful solidarity, my home.
i am grateful for their welcome
wooden rattled hommage from the last ones up to see me safely home. my midnight guardians and splendid deliverers of benevolence.
how do you do deep rooted advents of my day's first light?
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