sky earth soul winter

blue light shows through. the world awakens from slumber. inside dreams the soul was around others once known, but they did not recognize the soul and the soul did not reach out to them. some kind of auditorium. just the filtering and remnants of the far past perhaps. the mind has its own time, and is time. identify the dream but ignore. like when your foot is asleep. it will go away, through time, or be walked and healed. the blue gets lighter. it had snowed all night. the snow had its own beauty and nuance. on eaves. on branches. on rooftops. even on cars. somewhere a solitary fox perhaps walks, looking at the world, the grounds, fluffy tailed and red. there was a field immense and if the soul glanced at it, well just sometimes there would be a coyote near the middle standing.

and if the soul stared long the coyote would notice and look back. but this had not happened in a long time. the field seemed to be without anything but the snow reeds here and there and the lines like small narrow swaths some farmer must have made with a tractor in the brighter warmer days. the soul still imagined that the coyote was somewhere, and took refuge in the thought. why? because the world around there was so hum-drum-glum,- mediocre, full of sameness. sometimes a hawk watched the fields though. the blue that turned light blue had become almost a white firmament. to be a poet is to be invisible for better or worse, mused the soul passively. to be a poet is akin to being a ghost. ‘You are like a ghost,’ someone had said. but it wasn’t positive or pejorative, it had just been a statement. a stationary tractor sat forever by a field. in the late spring or summer the tractors moved again, like bees come to life buzzing and when they did, it could be incessantly. make way air. make way field. make way. there was a place on the outskirts of towns not overtaken by progress. once the soul knew the people there. they liked the soul but the soul was solitary and aloof from birth and this must have been written in a natal chart. somewhere. in the Akashic. not on anything in life as the time was unrecorded, unknown. and the birth time was needed for a proper chart. journey. the dawn. the snow. the times. the opacity of the upwards air. ah well. good enough. step and step. one day spring would see fit to show itself again.