A young girl climbs the rickety ladder
for what seemed like the hundredth time
eager to enter the castaway world tucked silently above.
The taut metal springs strumming loudly with every step she takes.
The cool air below giving way to a still and searing heat
and she wonders
how long she’ll be able to stand it this time.

In the darkness,
the smell of hard pine fills her senses.
Her hand expertly finds the flimsy string
to the single unadorned bulb.
The light casts brightly around her
fading deeply into the far corners she dare not go.
She looks around quickly
as if to see something that shouldn’t be there.
Her breath releases.
No, she is alone.

Nothing’s changed since the last time she visited here.
Forgotten clothes
old books with lost words
and memories of times passed
unorderly scattered across the splintered floorboards.
She knows the contents of every torn and abandoned bag
every unmarked box
and where every nail reaches out to claim its thread of the cobweb.
Her eyes now adjusting to the disseminating light
she feels the heat beginning its test on her quickly dampening skin.

The green floral dress hung lazily out of its bag
the one she has come to know by touch alone.
Envisioning how it took her mother’s shape,
she lifts the precious memory from its resting place
holding it up to her own small form.
Tears well
sliding down her flushed cheeks
and as if a mirror stood before her
she sways,
enveloped in the warm recollections
of the life that no longer filled the dress.

It is here where she feels it most.
It is here where the unspoken conversation can continue.
It is here where she can dance with Love.

She returns the dress back to the timeless world
feeling lighter and heavier than ever before.
With sweat now flowing freely from her pores
she surrenders to the sweet oppressiveness of this place.
She pulls the light string once more,
blanketing the weighted treasures in blackness.
again,
alone with the dark.

She will always come back to this ascended place
offering each step
every breath
and all her tears.

For it is here where she feels it most.
It is here where the unspoken conversation can be had.
It is here where she can dance with Love.

I dreamt
one night
of a deep blue wood
whose canopy
revealed little
beyond its keep.

Eyes forward
and around
an orange glow
from the ground
found deciduous
silhouettes
in its hold.

The air stood still
content
in its quietude
the sovereignty  
within silence
observed.

I have sensed this place
many times before
but never
have I
been shown
the hallowed grove
where each chapter
is kept
the preservation
of
my script.

This arcane wood
Has been waiting
for me
Preparing
the author’s chair
to be this close
as close in
as can be
and let pen
and page
finally speak.

Gently it falls
Water drifting on the wind.
Coming to rest like feathers on the warm summer grass.
It makes no sound as gravity reigns.  
The cycle, inevitable and undisturbed.

The kingfishers at hunt
Taking their place above the dimpled lake.
Patiently, with strong wings
They need only do what nature asks.

So let it be here.
A request so gentle
In the silence of the storm
With the wisdom of the birds
Where thoughts fade into breath
And worries are carried off on swift wings.