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Reminded of A Series of Dreams

Reminded of A Series of Dreams

This one was started in 2011, and was really published in an anthology

Standing here on a wooded ridge feeling the fine drizzling rain in my face here in the North Country Fair, and feeling as if I had wiped the dust from my hands and the sleep from my eyes and being aware of changes taking place. As I find myself standing here and am reminded of when I stood in a dark doorway and looked out at that temple of life when I attempted to try and live my life upon the square as I looked to the skies for divine intervention as I stood there. After I saw two homemade playing cards lying there on the steps of the station when all seemed to stay near the bottom, like all things that are wounded that would never rise to the top like fallen soldiers.

As I stand here now feeling this rain falling on me after having arrived in this place, I had to make my way to, knowing it was a long time coming, and a long road was traveled to be standing here as I feel a strength of another kind. And be able to survive and be finally free to live my life, as I see fit after cutting connections I should have long ago, with there being nothing left to hold me there, as I saw the time had run out and the writing on the wall for me to stay, as I went to be with the better part of me in this North Country Fair.

Feeling as if I had come up from below as I raised my hand and opened my fist to take all that I had missed, and knowing the web between my fingers holds all of those things I left behind as I learn something new each passing day. Still I wonder if I should believe the lines on my hands as I see the scars I carry that the sun’s dark light wouldn’t heal?

With life having come a long way since yesterday and I know the truth is the only thing that never changes and is unbending, though there are those who claim I would be back and my leaving was nothing more than a selfish act, as they drink deeply from those rivers of blindness and pause to say I am merely fooling myself. But what cares I for their praise as they closed their eyes and refused to see?

For I have finally reached a point I have found to be true about finally being free, while I head through the trees as I follow a seldom used trail to an old road that is being reclaimed by the forest, and I know where beauty lives as I found it knowing that liberty, this time, won’t pirouette about my being free as in the past. Nor has illusion spun the lines to its net that is usually cast when I think or feel that I am finally free as liberty laughs, as I find myself thinking of that Girl from This North Country Fair and seem to hear her whisper on the wind.

Now making my way down the road I am following and walking on old wet autumn leaves as I head through the trees, and taking this road that’s less traveled to where it may take me and not sparing a thought for most I have left behind me, knowing I will soon be seeing her again, and those songs that hide there in her eyes that can be seen when she smiles, and both of us have been down a long winding road to be finally here where the Tao directed us to be long ago. With both of having been pledging our time to be here in this North Country Fair as the rain changes to snow.

Causing me to think how I headed beyond those city lights to the outer boundaries that once lay in the distance, and time might change us, but we both know that it can’t be defeated as it makes it’s passage through unseen. Having both of us looking to what will be the truth as we head past the frozen leaves knowing that we are free, as we keep away from those haunted, and frightful looking trees towards that wind swept beach in the distance, way from the reach of that clearing where the stones of sorrow stand.

She knows me and knows when I was younger I thought I knew everything, just as we both know that I can’t remember what had me think I was so learned about life and other things, while I follow the road that will soon have me arrive at our door, and still I am writing my story for her. Even if at times it seems like I still have reflections follow me from the wrong direction, and knowing now that calloused hands are not really a sign of strength and a calloused heart is usually found to be empty, as I look forward to what will always be the truth, and I am finally home feeling like I am standing on the edge of forever. And would stop a bullet and stand by that one I will follow across the bridge that leads to forever, to that undiscovered country whose bourne no traveler returns.

Copyright July 2011/ January 2012 – 2: Timberwolf International LTD.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than storiesspace.com with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © Copyright Timberwolf International LTD. All rights reserved. Copyrighted and protected under the copyright laws of both The United States and of The United Kingdom. Under U. S. Code Title 17 § 204. No unauthorized duplication by any means including electronic, or copying may be allowed unless permission is asked for in writing and permission therefore granted by the author or copyright holder, or his/her agent. In writing and signed by the owner of the rights conveyed or such owner’s duly authorized agent. And duly witnessed by his or her representative or duly assigned agent. Under penalty of copyright infringement or intellectual property theft. All violators will be prosecuted.

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